Lauren Ipsum: A Story About Computer Science and Other Improbable Things by Carlos Bueno Page B
Authors: Carlos Bueno
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and it didn’t need warning. It was exactly
where it was supposed to be.
The Jargonaut was the boat, and Kevin Kelvin was its captain. The boat
was large and flat and plain. Near the front was a little cabin where Kelvin lived. The rest of the
deck was taken up by a crane and a winch—a machine built to wind wire in or out. A wire led
from the crane and into the water, looking like a large fishing pole. Belowdecks was mostly a hold
for tons and tons of coiled wire.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that the Jargonaut was a gigantic
boat with a winch attached to it. That might give you the wrong impression. It would be better to
describe it as a gigantic winch with a boat attached to it. Its entire purpose
in life was to play out and wind up miles of heavy wire.
Inside the cabin, Kevin Kelvin rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. A thermometer hung
from a peg near the door. It read a chilly 273. Brrrrr! Now, 273 degrees might
sound pretty hot to you and me, but this thermometer didn’t measure in degrees Fahrenheit or
Celsius. It was on the Kelvin Scale, one of the captain’s many inventions. The Kelvin Scale
starts at Absolute Zero, the coldest that any cold thing can possibly get. And 273 Kelvin
isn’t much better. It’s about the temperature of an ice cube. Brrrrr!
The thermometer said a lot about the kind of person Kevin Kelvin was. He was a Composer, and a
wickedly smart one. He never let a good idea escape without putting his name on it.
When people asked Kelvin what he was doing, he would say he was fishing. He never explained
what he was fishing for , in the middle of the night with a gigantic winch that
had a boat attached to it. When people made jokes about catching sea monsters, Kelvin only smiled.
No one knew what he knew. How could they?
Kevin Kelvin was fishing for teeny-tiny bits of electricity flowing up his Wire. The Wire
traveled under the ocean for miles, all the way to a little building on the shore, not far from the
lighthouse. He twiddled dials, and listened carefully to a nearby speaker connected to the Wire, and
made notes. If his ideas were right, any moment now he should hear a signal from his assistant on
the other end. It would sound like—
BEEP.
His skin tingled with excitement, but he didn’t dare make a sound.
BLOOP. BEEP.
Kelvin quickly disconnected some wires and connected some other ones. He flicked a switch on
and off.
FLIP. FLOP. FLIP.
The Wire answered back.
BLOOP.
The Wire worked! Just as Kelvin thought: he could send messages using electricity, even under
miles of seawater. If the Jargonaut laid down a Wire all the way between two
islands, that would form the first link in Kelvin’s very own Network. A Network that could
send messages all the time, even on a terrible night like this. A Network that, someday, could even
have multiple Wires .
Those fools up there in their ivory towers, flashing their little lights, will never know what
hit them!
The Field Guide to Userland
You might have wondered whether this or that part of the story is real. Can you really make a
Fair Coin out of an Unfair Coin? Can you really use ants to find shorter paths? Yes, you can do
both—and a lot more besides. In this guide, you’ll find out how some of the places,
people, and things Laurie encounters in Userland connect with our own world.
Chapter 0: Mostly Lost
Jargon
In the real world, jargon doesn’t look like a mouse-dog, or even a dog-mouse; it looks
just like an ordinary word! Computer scientists (and really, all scientists) love inventing new
words. We call these specialized words jargon or argot .
Jargon can be good, because it saves time when you’re discussing things with your colleagues.
It can also be bad, because it excludes nonexperts from the conversation.
When you’re just starting out with programming, all the jargon, argot, and weird new
words can be intimidating, but don’t let that stop you from learning. Jargon can be silly, or
powerful, or
where it was supposed to be.
The Jargonaut was the boat, and Kevin Kelvin was its captain. The boat
was large and flat and plain. Near the front was a little cabin where Kelvin lived. The rest of the
deck was taken up by a crane and a winch—a machine built to wind wire in or out. A wire led
from the crane and into the water, looking like a large fishing pole. Belowdecks was mostly a hold
for tons and tons of coiled wire.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that the Jargonaut was a gigantic
boat with a winch attached to it. That might give you the wrong impression. It would be better to
describe it as a gigantic winch with a boat attached to it. Its entire purpose
in life was to play out and wind up miles of heavy wire.
Inside the cabin, Kevin Kelvin rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. A thermometer hung
from a peg near the door. It read a chilly 273. Brrrrr! Now, 273 degrees might
sound pretty hot to you and me, but this thermometer didn’t measure in degrees Fahrenheit or
Celsius. It was on the Kelvin Scale, one of the captain’s many inventions. The Kelvin Scale
starts at Absolute Zero, the coldest that any cold thing can possibly get. And 273 Kelvin
isn’t much better. It’s about the temperature of an ice cube. Brrrrr!
The thermometer said a lot about the kind of person Kevin Kelvin was. He was a Composer, and a
wickedly smart one. He never let a good idea escape without putting his name on it.
When people asked Kelvin what he was doing, he would say he was fishing. He never explained
what he was fishing for , in the middle of the night with a gigantic winch that
had a boat attached to it. When people made jokes about catching sea monsters, Kelvin only smiled.
No one knew what he knew. How could they?
Kevin Kelvin was fishing for teeny-tiny bits of electricity flowing up his Wire. The Wire
traveled under the ocean for miles, all the way to a little building on the shore, not far from the
lighthouse. He twiddled dials, and listened carefully to a nearby speaker connected to the Wire, and
made notes. If his ideas were right, any moment now he should hear a signal from his assistant on
the other end. It would sound like—
BEEP.
His skin tingled with excitement, but he didn’t dare make a sound.
BLOOP. BEEP.
Kelvin quickly disconnected some wires and connected some other ones. He flicked a switch on
and off.
FLIP. FLOP. FLIP.
The Wire answered back.
BLOOP.
The Wire worked! Just as Kelvin thought: he could send messages using electricity, even under
miles of seawater. If the Jargonaut laid down a Wire all the way between two
islands, that would form the first link in Kelvin’s very own Network. A Network that could
send messages all the time, even on a terrible night like this. A Network that, someday, could even
have multiple Wires .
Those fools up there in their ivory towers, flashing their little lights, will never know what
hit them!
The Field Guide to Userland
You might have wondered whether this or that part of the story is real. Can you really make a
Fair Coin out of an Unfair Coin? Can you really use ants to find shorter paths? Yes, you can do
both—and a lot more besides. In this guide, you’ll find out how some of the places,
people, and things Laurie encounters in Userland connect with our own world.
Chapter 0: Mostly Lost
Jargon
In the real world, jargon doesn’t look like a mouse-dog, or even a dog-mouse; it looks
just like an ordinary word! Computer scientists (and really, all scientists) love inventing new
words. We call these specialized words jargon or argot .
Jargon can be good, because it saves time when you’re discussing things with your colleagues.
It can also be bad, because it excludes nonexperts from the conversation.
When you’re just starting out with programming, all the jargon, argot, and weird new
words can be intimidating, but don’t let that stop you from learning. Jargon can be silly, or
powerful, or
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