My sister, Sarah, is crypto expert with the GRYA, and she tells me more than she really should. In 1996, she was the first person to ever decipher a transmission from Mars. The first extraterrestrial message wasn’t very interesting; it was an advertisement. Interplanetary (intergalactic?) junk mail. (The ad wasn’t intended for earthlings; it was an offer for some sort of irrelevant personal hygiene product related to an orifice only a handful of people have even seen.)

Four years ago, Sarah’s brilliant work led the U.S. president to come up with his unconvincing “life on Mars” story, which he claimed was based on bacterial evidence from meteorites. This small lie, unlike his other little lies, was accepted, uncritically. After all, who’d have believed that he learned about Martians from intercepted junk mail?

“That’s great,” I said. “Tell me, how does it work?”

Siobhan looked at me with a combination of pity and contempt. She tossed me the pencil, and said, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” I didn’t take it personally; the fortune-telling fish must have warned her that she’d meet a moron.

Professor Walhberg gave me a relatively inexpensive digital camera that does ninety-some percent of everything I want my cameras to do. I took a photograph, then made a thirty by twenty centimeter print of one of my laboratory’s disguised missile silos. I ended up with as lovely an image as I could expect from my Leicas, Nikons, Hasselblads, Rolleis, and Sinars.

Oh dear.

Now that I’ve discovered that a simple camera can do almost everything my other cameras can do, I’m on the verge of losing my identity as a consumer. Now that all I need is a cheap Japanese gizmo, what do I do with all my old toys? I couldn’t possibly sell them, but I can’t imagine using them regularly.

A digital pox upon you too, Professor Walhberg!

After a dozen or so pieces, though, I decided that even one hundred and ten seconds was longer than the attention span of most viewers, or at least longer than mine. When and if I ever make video art, I think I’ll try to make works that are thirty seconds long. I figure that’s about the length of time it would take an average person to read these two paragraphs. I could say more, but today’s thirty seconds are gone.

The report seems relatively unintelligible, but that’s probably because I’m not a mariner or a meteorologist. A newsreader with perfect diction announces the prediction in a steady, surreal monotone. S/he never sounds worried when a gale threatens seafarers’ lives; s/he never expresses relief when the outlook changes to “moderate becoming good.”

And now (that’s the BBC’s standard segue), here’s today’s forecast, republished through the involuntary courtesy of the British Broadcasting Company:

“And now the Shipping Forecast issued by the Met Office At 0015 on Tuesday 06 June 2000.

The General Synopsis At 1900

High 200 miles Northeast of Faeroes 1027 moving slowly northeast and declining 1024 by 1900 Tuesday. Atlantic high 1030 moving quickly east, expected 100 miles west of Finisterre 1032 by same time.

Viking North Utsire South Utsire Forties

North or northeast 3 or 4, becoming variable 3 or less. Mainly fair. Good.

East veering south 3 or 4 then veering west 4 or 5 later. Rain later. Good becoming moderate.

North backing south 3 or 4 veering west 4 or 5 later. Rain later. Good becoming moderate.

Northeast becoming variable 3 or 4. Rain later. Good becoming moderate.

North or northeast 3 backing northwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6. Rain or drizzle. Mainly moderate.

Northwest, backing southwest for a time, 3 or 4, occasionally 5. Occasional rain. Moderate or good.

West or northwest 3 or 4, occasionally 5. Showers. Mainly good.

Northwesterly 3 or 4, becoming variable 3 in south. Fair. Mainly good.

North 4 or 5, occasionally 6. Fair. Good.

Variable becoming north or northeast 3 or 4, but 5 or 6 near Cape Finisterre. Fair. Moderate or good.

Southwest veering northwest 4 or 5, becoming variable 3. Occasional drizzle. Moderate or good.

Southwest veering northwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6. Rain then showers. Moderate becoming good.

South 3, veering west 4 or 5. Rain then showers. Moderate becoming good.

West 5 or 6 backing southwest 4. Rain then showers. Moderate or good.

West 5 or 6 but southeast 4 or 5 in northeast at first. Rain then showers. Moderate or good.

Southeast veering west 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later. Rain then showers. Moderate becoming good.

Southeast 5 or 6 veering southwest 3 or 4. Rain then showers. Moderate becoming good.

East 4 or 5 veering south 3. Fair. Good.

East or southeast 5 or 6. Mainly fair. Good.”

Good, indeed.

It’s an amazing skill, a talent that’s almost as amazing as it is useless. It would be a great party game, except that there’s rarely ice from more than one refrigerator at any given party.

Empirical evidence suggests that the imbeciles who toss shoes onto utility lines inhabit a separate, parallel universe. It’s a good place for them.

We’ve never played poker, though, primarily because none of us know the rules. With that in mind, I picked up a volume I saw at a lodge, The Penguin Book of Card Games. I’m very glad I did, because the author, David Parlett, came up with a lovely line that’s as relevant to art as it is to poker: “Chance enters into the picture, but only as a servant—not as a master.”

He didn’t stop there, although he could have. He went on to list the hierarchy of hands, complete with the probably of receiving each one.

straight flush .0015%
four of a kind .024%
full house .44%
flush .1956%
straight .392%
three of a kind 2.13%
two pair 4.75%
one pair 42.2%
nothing 50.1%

“Nah,” he replied, “it’s completely natural to eat animals. That’s why they’re all made out of meat.”