Slime Molds and Mazes

I was intrigued by this article from Scientific American, which describes various experiments that have been conducted on Slime Mold, a singled-celled organism whose properties and behaviors scientists are just beginning to understand.

In these experiments, slime mold has managed to do some impressive stuff like solve mazes and accurately recreate transit systems by connecting "cities" made of slime mold chow. There's even a slime mold-controlled robot!



This made me think about how humans might solve a maze differently from slime mold. As described in the video above, slime mold branches out across the entire maze, and in some place finds food. Later, the branches that found dead ends retract back to the main, leaving behind only the most efficient path from point A to point B.

A person walking through a labyrinth does effectively the same thing. The only difference is that we do it in a linearly: Walk around a few turns, come to a dead end, go back to the previous fork and try a different direction. If we were able to see around corners, and if we were able to do so around multiple corners simultaneously, we'd be doing the exact same thing with our sense of vision that slime mold does with its sense of... slime.

It also made me think of computing models. In network computing, we would say that the slime is using an  Open Shortest Path First protocol. Yet, we don't say that the packets are "intelligent." We don't usually describe the central controller of such a system as intelligent either. They're just executing a complex but dumb algorithm.

It's usually about now that my brain starts to do one or more of the following. In this case, I've decided to do all three:

Meditate
Think on it. Sleep on it. Ponder it. "It" being (in this case) the diversity of life on Earth, the scientific method, and the nature and definition of "intelligence." Do this until A) I have an epiphany or B) I remember that I have a family or a project or some personal hygiene to attend to. It's usually B, which I suspect is preventing me from living a life of eccentric genius, for better or worse.

Science
Improvise crude but functional experiments in my kitchen in an attempt to A) gain a deeper understanding B) teach my kids about science and/or C) make a mess and have fun.

In this case I'm curious: What does the mold do if the food source it was optimized for disappears? Does it re-try the paths it'd blocked off? What if you keep extending the maze, say 5 or 10 or 50 times, but then suddenly move the food to the beginning? How long is slime mold's "memory" and how complex a pattern can it tolerate?

Design a Game
There's a deep sense of satisfaction that comes with grasping something fully enough that you begin to recognize the patterns that emerge. Creating an abstract representation of a system is one of the best ways I know to discover, demonstrate, and reinforce understanding. Game designer Andrew Looney said, "The ideas just seem to pop fully-formed into my brain." Some of my best game ideas have just popped into my head, but the ones that are "fully formed" leave nothing for me to tinker with, so I ignore them. This one, though, promises to be some fun.

Updates on 2 of these will come in the near future. In the meantime, if anyone knows a good source of slime mold in the lower Hudson Valley, ping me!

An Important Lesson From a Bad Teacher

Mrs. Fineberg was a stubborn, arrogant, 6th grade English teacher who inadvertently taught me a more important lesson than any other teacher I've had.

We were reading Flowers for Algernon. It's a short story in which a scientist experiments with brain-enhancing surgery, first on a lab mouse named Algernon, and then on a rather slow human volunteer named Charlie. Written from the point of view of Charlie, the style of writing changes as he gets smarter and smarter. It changes again later as the effects of the surgery wear off, and he regresses back to his old self. This arc--the initial progress and subsequent regression--is foreshadowed by observations of Algernon. Toward the end, with terrible grammar and occasional spelling mistakes, he writes that Algernon has died. The story ends with only the implication of a conclusion.

Our assignment was to write two essays: one as "Smart Charlie," shortly after the surgery, and one as "Dumb Charlie," after he'd lost any intellectual advantage the surgery had given him. I don't remember the contents of my essays, but the second one, written as Dumb Charlie, included some spelling and grammatical errors. 

On the first essay, I was graded an A. On the second, which was written within the same 45 minute period as the first, I got a C-. All of my spelling and grammatical errors, even the ones that obviously mimicked the "mistakes" in the book, were circled in red.

I decided to bring this to Mrs. Fineberg's attention at the end of class, to clear up the misunderstanding. I was sure she'd be embarrassed by her mistake, and approached her cautiously as she fussed with the papers on her desk getting ready for her next class. I showed her my paper and politely made my case. 

I did not get the response I'd expected.

"The grade stands. Your paper was riddled with errors," she said, without even looking up from her desk.

"But... they were *intentional* errors, put there on purpose to make it look more authentic!"

"Yeah, right." She actually made a face and roller her eyes. My teacher! To this day, whenever I see an adult casually dismissing a child, I picture Mrs. Fineberg's eyes, rolling... just rolling and rolling into oblivion. It infuriates me.

"You told us to write like Dumb Charlie!" I was getting angry. Poor grades were a Very Big Deal in my house. "Here. Look. If I didn't know how to spell, why would this other essay be perfect?"

She refused to believe me. She didn't even glance up at the essays as I held them side by side. As far as she was concerned, the grades were recorded, and anything I had to say now was irrelevant.

For a moment, nothing made any sense. I'd gotten poor grades before, but whenever I did, it was because I didn't understand the material, or didn't put in very much effort. But now, not only was I being penalized for what I considered to be creativity, but I was basically accused of lying in an attempt to get a better grade. Why would she think such a thing?

And then, a strange thought hit me--a slow realization that conflicted with my blind belief that all teachers were, by definition, smarter and wiser than their students.

"Are... are you an idiot?"

Her eyes finally pointed directly at me. They were wide and full of rage. It seemed like forever before she finally said anything, but when she did, it was only a whisper.

"How daaaare you."

In hindsight, Mrs. Fineberg's grading error was probably due to the fact that she had hundreds of essays to grade, and didn't have time to notice which ones were done by the same student. And she probably didn't want to hear my complaint because she was scrambling to prepare for her next class. From my brief stint as a science teacher, I know first hand just how daunting the teaching profession can be, and how utterly hopeless it feels to navigate a broken school system, angry parents, and too many kids with little to no support. I couldn't do it, myself. After a few short months in the system, I left and went back to my career as an IT analyst. I have great respect and admiration for the teaching profession and those who stick with it. I honestly don't know how they stay sane.

Anyway there I was, back in the 6th grade, shocked and disgusted at the shattered illusion of teacher omnipotence. I expressed this revelation and the emotional toll it was taking on me in the only way I knew how: Crazed screaming at Mrs. Fineberg. Calling her an idiot. Telling her I hated her. I hate you, you idiot, I HATE YOU!

If I could pinpoint a moment in my adolescence that I went from Model Student to Snot-Nosed Punk, that was probably it. 

As I got older, I left behind most of my contrary attitude, sense of entitlement, and inexplicable need to rebel against everything. And thank goodness, because I was pretty intolerable.

However, to this day, I'm still skeptical toward self-proclaimed experts,institutions, and authority figures. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a distrust, but my trust in nearly all important things that I don't experience first hand (and some things that I do) are provisional, pending second opinions, research, discussion, and meditation. 

I firmly believe that even the smartest, most qualified people make mistakes more often than we'd like to think, especially when they are forced to operate within a broken system. I include myself and other people I respect in that estimation, and so I welcome opportunities to be wrong, because those are lessons best learned. Like everyone, I certainly have a lot to work on, but in general I'm a thoughtful, happy (though often frustrated at the general complacency and intellectual laziness of modern society), well-balanced human being--one who puts great effort into teaching my own children to be self-dependent critical thinkers.

And for all of that, I owe stubborn old arrogant Mrs. Fineberg my deepest gratitude.

Better than a Book of Baby Names

When I got pregnant and started thinking about names, I didn't buy any baby name books. Instead I wrote a script that combined pleasant sounds to form a long list of phonetic baby names.

I knew I wanted something with two syllables, and that with a last initial of H, I didn't want my child to have initials that spelled something stupid like "EH" or "AH" or "OH." I also knew that I preferred something that ended with an "ee" or "ah" sound in nickname form.

So I listed out the letters and sounds I would consider, grouped them into four different arrays, and wrote a quick javascript function that would print out all eight thousand three hundred and sixteen combinations of them. Then I sat down with a nice cup of tea and read each of the names out loud.


The full list can be found here:

Baby Name Generator Output: Niki's List of Phonetic Baby Names


My first daughter's name, Kayla, can be found on line #3,084. The script came in handy again two years later. My second daughter's name, Zoe, appears on line #8,225.

That's pretty much the end of the list, though, so we're not having any more kids.

I'm not teaching my daughters to be "nice." I'm teaching them how to be appropriate.

I said this to a friend the other day and his response was, "That doesn't make any sense. How is she supposed to know what's appropriate?"

It's actually the ambiguity of the word that I was drawn to. Because really, there is no single behavior that works in all situations. You would think that "nice" would be it, but let's take a closer look:

nice
1. pleasing; agreeable; delightful: a nice visit.
2. amiably pleasant; kind: They are always nice to strangers.


I knew this word would be problematic when my daughters started accusing me of being "not nice" whenever I enforced consequences that they weren't happy with, such as withholding dessert if they didn't eat dinner, or leaving a restaurant if they were incapable of appropriate behavior.

My suspicion was confirmed when my 3-year-old revealed that nearly every day at daycare, she played with a classmate whose actions made her uncomfortable. He was a nice kid, not mean-spirited, but he always wanted to play "shoot," where he would make a gun with his hand and shoot at her. (More on guns and gun-play later; but for now just know that she did not like this game.)

"Maybe next time you can tell him you don't want to play that game, and suggest another game instead," I offered. 

"I did, but he never wants to play other games."

"Well, I think it's important to play a game you will both enjoy. If he insists on playing games that upset you, you can stop playing with him and spend time with other friends instead." 

"But it's not nice to not play with someone! My teacher said it's mean!"

For a second I perturbed by the fact that her teacher would classify her wish not to engage in activities she was uncomfortable with as "mean." But then I remembered that I've probably told her almost the exact same thing at one time or another. It was then that I realized that I had been dividing the world into tidy categories of "nice" and "not nice," which is a simple and effective way to set behavior expectations for a toddler, at least within a very narrow context.

What it does not do, is prepare the child to evaluate new situations and determine the best course of action.

It's like teaching a kid to memorize multiplication tables before they understand what multiplication is, conceptually. Yes, 4 x 5 = 20. But do you understand why?

A child that understands the process of arriving that answer will be able to figure out what 11 x 5 is on her own. A child who only knows the answer because he memorized it won't have the tools necessarily to figure out problems he hasn't already seen and memorized the answer to. In the long run, understanding the process is more important than knowing the answer.

And so it goes with behavior and socialization.

My daughter and I had a long conversation about what it means to be kind to others, and how to balance that with her own right to feel safe and enjoy herself. I haven't removed the word "nice" from my vocabulary, but I do try to reserve it for when she's already thought about the specific situation, relationships, and emotions in play. The directive to "be nice," on its own, is meaningless without the rationale behind it.

Over time, she and her sister will  learn to recognize that people have different tastes and tolerances, and that while it's perfectly OK to have negative feelings like fear and anger, they should be in the habit of thinking things through to determine if what they're doing is ultimately the best course of action for themselves, their friends, their communities, and the world.

This is a fairly complex concept to a 3-year-old, but it's one that takes years to really understand and practice with competence. Best that we start practicing now.

GameStop, you disappoint me.

When I heard that GameStop was opening new "GameStop Kids" popup stores around the country in time for the holidays, I was psyched! With all the positive attention video games have been getting lately, maybe they're starting to recognize the awesome potential market for games and gaming spaces for younger kids. I imagined browsing shelves lined with video games that might be appropriate for a pre-schooler, like LEGO Harry Potter, or Monkey Quest, or maybe some newer stuff I've never heard of. Perhaps they'd be intermingled with table games and puzzles and all kinds of products that trigger the same kinds of challenges and benefits that many video games do. Awesome!

Turns out most of the products that will be sold at GameStop Kids are game-themed accessories and paraphernalia. In fact, CEO Paul Raines said, "This is really a way for us to take share away from people who are in the toy business."

Oh. Well, not quite what I had in mind, but that could still be cool, assuming you carry products that are unique and fun for kids. So, what kinds of toys do you have?

Really? I mean, I love Doctor Who, but I think the only thing that would interest my child less than attempting to drink from a TARDIS mug would be collecting it. Next?

These things are ubiquitous, I can get them anywhere. I can get them at my grocery store. Next.

It's Moist! Oh wait, no. Next!

Jesus. Ok, I know there are kids out there who have cell phones, but since when is an Android case considered a kids' product?




Obviously this is not a "KIDS" store. I don't even know why they called it that. It is a play for the video game toy market--effectively a way for the business to add to its bottom line without really adding much value.

And it's a shame, because I think there's a market for a store like the one I was imagining. A store that's chock full of games designed just for kids, where you can find not just kid-friendly video games but table games, 3D puzzles, maybe a book of math riddles and some of those iron twisty things that you have to pull apart and put back together without a blowtorch. Some open space for kids and parents to try out the games, maybe some computers and consol stations set up to try out new video game titles. There could be classes and game nights (that start at 3pm) and a chess club that teaches strategy to 4th graders!

I would totally shop at a store like that. Wouldn't you? Come on GameStop. You're almost onto something good.

Discipline and Skill Building (or, how to get your kid to go the f**k to sleep)

For the longest time I treated my 4-year-old daughter's refusal to go to bed at night as a discipline problem. And it was, just not in the sense that she was intentionally going against my wishes, but in the sense that she lacked the discipline necessary to fall asleep.

I can relate-- most nights I have trouble falling asleep myself. I find it difficult to quiet my mind for long enough to drift off. There's always some idea, or something I had to do, that snaps my mind back into wakefulness. When it happens to adults we call it stress, but when it happens to our kids, we treat them as though they're misbehaving. (Incidentally, trouble falling asleep at night is one sign of an intelligent child.)

We often use the term "discipline problems" as a euphemism for behavioral issues. But discipline is an internally developed skill. Avoidance of punishment is one possible motivation, but in the long run, not a very effective one. No wonder instructions like, "Listen, tonight at bedtime, I want you to lie in bed QUIETLY. No jumping around, no games with your sister, no getting up and playing with your toys. Just stay in bed and Go. To. SLEEP."

She would say, "I don't want to!" but the truth is, she just didn't know how.

Kids WANT to learn. As much as we want them to stay little, they want to grow up and become bigger, smarter, faster, better than they currently are.

My daughter started sleeping much better the day I told her, "We're going to practice falling asleep tonight. It can be really hard sometimes, but if you practice, you'll get better and better at it, just like writing your name or climbing the big ladder at the park. It'll take a little while, but I KNOW you can do it."

Where discipline techniques fail, faith and encouragement prevail.