jump-shot potato-head

I've been spending a lot of time in my junk e-mail folder lately. Not because important e-mails are being mis-routed there, but because my junk mail has been taking on a haiku-like gracefulness of late.

I still get the occasional plea to help a deposed Nigerian prince, and offers for various things that will Increase Her Pleasure. But my recent spam's names and subject lines have a ticklish quality to them:

From: Maddox J. Simeon
Subject: truthfully niggling

From: Nguyen T. Carol
Subject: gingerbread left-hand

Maddox J. Simeon? That's positively Dickensian. And didn't Frank Zappa have an album called "Gingerbread Left-Hand"?

Some more:

From: Ada D. Daniels
Subject: Rosh Hashanah cast-iron

From: Nell E. Foley
Subject: crematoria patchwork

From: Dempsey U. Ferdinand
Subject: nincompoop goof-off

The London-based anti-spam group Spamhaus has identified the world's most prolific spammer, a shadowy figure in the Ukraine who calls himself Alex Polyakov. (Yes, that's the name of the Soviet spymaster in Le Carre's Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy). Polyakov, obviously wanted by numerous law enforcement agencies, has surfaced only once: When an anti-spam program written by a programmer named Darren Brothers interfered with Polykov's business last year, he phoned his nemesis. Brothers taped the conversation, in which Polyakov said, "You're killing my business! How much do I have to pay you?"

How much do I have to pay you to turn out for hoops at St. John's tomorrow? Remember when you were 25 and it took more than a foot of snow to keep you away from the gym? Why should it be any different now? Get up early, hit the road, and be there for tip-off at 8:00.

Please let me know if you will or will not be playing.

I shot forty percent, but it felt like ten below

I've long felt the "wind chill factor" is bullshit. Now this week comes a slew of reporting to the effect that yes, the wind chill index is a deeply flawed calculation.

My disdain for wind chill has always been based on a simple premise: wind chill only matters if you're naked. If you dress appropriately for winter—coat, hat, scarf, gloves, etc.—handling the breeze is a breeze.

Slate ("Wind Chill Blows") reports on the origins of "wind chill":

Its ignoble history began with a pair of Antarctic explorers named Paul Siple and Charles Passel. In 1945, the two men left plastic bottles of water outside in the wind and observed the rate at which they froze. The equation they worked out used the wind speed and air temperature to describe the rate at which the bottles gave off heat, expressed in watts per square meter.

In the 1970s, the Canadian weather service began reporting figures based on this work, but as Slate reports, "these three- and four-digit values meant little to the average person" and weather reporters developed clumsy ways to translate the figures into real-world expressions such as "feels like 40 below."

Seven or eight years ago, two researchers began looking closely at the inconsistencies and by 2001 the Joint Action Group on Temperature Indices (and you thought your department had a cool name) created an all-new system. But wait—the new system also has flaws that would be apparent to anyone who passed sophomore science and winters in Minnesota, namely:

[The researchers] geared their calculations toward people who are 5 feet tall, somewhat portly, and walk at an even clip directly into the wind. They also left out crucial variables that have an important effect on how we experience the weather, like solar radiation. Direct sunlight can make us feel 10 to 15 degrees warmer, even on a frigid winter day.

Other problems:

Air temperatures tend to remain fairly stable throughout the day, but wind speeds fluctuate a great deal. (It's much less breezy in the morning and at night, for example.) Wind speed also varies depending on where you are. Obstacles on a city street—like buildings, cars, and kiosks—can block the flow of air and reduce its average speed.

So there you go: It's time to retire this meaningless number whose only purpose is to give meteorologists something to make the weather sound more dramatic.

Which brings us back to hoops. Boy, was it cold in the gym last week. It may be time to institute a light and dark sweatshirt rule until this cold breaks. Either way, let me know if you will or will not be playing tomorrow. We tip off at 8:00 a.m., as usual.

Feb 3: Game on

Let's play hoops tomorrow, shall we? Please let me know if you will or will not be playing.