"5000 Tealights, or What We Did at Elgin Hall"
[This was written by my good friend Raffi. Note that it takes place at U. of Western Ontario, not MIT. I'm reposting it here with permission, for a couple of different reasons -- see note at end.]
This picture was taken from Elgin Hall's roof, six stories up. It's composed of about 2000 tealights. It took us 45 minutes or so to set up, and about a half hour to light. The candles remained lit for about an hour, and took only about 10 minutes to blow out.
This is the story behind the picture. It's about what we did over at Elgin on the night of Saturday, April 21. It's as best as I can recall, from the idea to its execution.
A few months ago, our own Gary O'Neil came up with the idea of making a sign out of tealights. He showed me a bag of 100 lights.
"That's a crazy idea," I said. "Besides, it's nowhere near enough to make a visible sign."
"It's OK, I have 400 more under my bed," he said.
I was momentarily speechless.
"How many do you think we'll need?" he asked.
"I dunno, a thousand?"
Two weeks later, there were 5000 tealights under Gary's bed.
In late December, Gary called me up. "It's go time!" he exclaimed.
I went over to Elgin, braving the bitter cold. That was enough of a warning sign: after a test run with a couple candles, we realized that snow and ice and wind just aren't right for this kind of thing.
But the dream stayed alive: this was one of those things you could tell would be worth doing, if nothing else just to talk about it later (or post on Facebook). Besides, there was no way in hell Gary was lugging 5000 tealights back to Chatham.
Last week, Gary called me up. "It's time," he proclaimed. And on Saturday night, we found ourselves out in the Elgin field, laying out literally thousands of candles.
To be honest, I was surprised at how fast we worked. I mean, we'd done a trial run in Elgin's basement to see how fast we could lay out a single letter (I think I actually owe Gary a doubloon as a result) but I was impressed at how well it scaled. Many hands do make light work.
It was well-planned, too. We knew where to hide the candles during the day, found holes in the fence (no elaboration), figured out that butane safety-lighters probably weren't the best thing for lighting 2000-odd candles. We knew exactly what time it began to get dark (7:54), what time it would be fully dark (9:00), and, most importantly, what time Rez staff got off duty (1:15). Using trig, eyeballs, and common sense, we found the best place to lay out the candles such that they wouldn't be extinguished by wet grass or set dry grass on fire. We figured out how to get up to the roof.
At 1:25, all the candles were lit. Our cipher (Gary's term, of course), Karen, went down to the Academic Cafe.
"Gary, you took English last year, right?" Karen asked. "Can you help me with this?" And Gary, in his brusque manner, decided it was "time for a break," and led Ashley up to the roof.
As ground crew, I stayed back to make sure that none of the candles ignited the field. After all, we'd already had a fire alarm that night (forcing us to strip ourselves of outer layers and cover our work) and seen police cars move slowly by. I had a thermos full at all times, just in case. (Fun fact: my "safety" thermos was full of tea. Surprise!)
That said, there was fun on the ground, to be sure. Dan DaSilva was running interference to avoid moment-spoilage up on the roof. We had a rhythm down: we'd tell people what it said, and wave them off. The best moment was definitely when Dan ran interference for a couple.
"What does it say?" the girl asked.
We told her, and she swooned. "Alright, we've seen it. Let's go," said her man.
At 1:45, Gary came running out, breathless. "It was just great," he said. "We did it." And (because I desperately wanted to see our work) we went up to the 5-East stairwell.
To see it on the ground was one thing. I love building cool things, and this was, to my mind, about as cool as it gets. But from far up, everything looked different. Ancillary things; trees, poles, fences, all these things vanished as all that remained was a glow of something beautiful. It transcended my love of design as I saw what the rest of Elgin saw: a message of love, and our last great adventure of the year.
The experience was best summed up by Gary as he and Heather and I rode the elevator back down:
"I hope she'll think of it when she's in a vacant or pensive mood."
"Pensive, eh?" I remarked, bemused.
Gary continued, undeterred.
"For oft when on her couch she lies,
In vacant or in pensive mood
They'll flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then her heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
[...Now, what'd you think of that? My main reason for posting it is simply because it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read, in a similar way as Moeko's Owl. (As well, it's a good reminder that MIT doesn't have a monopoly on competent hacks!) But my other reason for posting it is that Raffi is curious whether, and to what degree, the perception of this event's beauty is transferable to people who weren't there and/or don't know the people involved. So post your reactions!]
This picture was taken from Elgin Hall's roof, six stories up. It's composed of about 2000 tealights. It took us 45 minutes or so to set up, and about a half hour to light. The candles remained lit for about an hour, and took only about 10 minutes to blow out.
This is the story behind the picture. It's about what we did over at Elgin on the night of Saturday, April 21. It's as best as I can recall, from the idea to its execution.
A few months ago, our own Gary O'Neil came up with the idea of making a sign out of tealights. He showed me a bag of 100 lights.
"That's a crazy idea," I said. "Besides, it's nowhere near enough to make a visible sign."
"It's OK, I have 400 more under my bed," he said.
I was momentarily speechless.
"How many do you think we'll need?" he asked.
"I dunno, a thousand?"
Two weeks later, there were 5000 tealights under Gary's bed.
In late December, Gary called me up. "It's go time!" he exclaimed.
I went over to Elgin, braving the bitter cold. That was enough of a warning sign: after a test run with a couple candles, we realized that snow and ice and wind just aren't right for this kind of thing.
But the dream stayed alive: this was one of those things you could tell would be worth doing, if nothing else just to talk about it later (or post on Facebook). Besides, there was no way in hell Gary was lugging 5000 tealights back to Chatham.
Last week, Gary called me up. "It's time," he proclaimed. And on Saturday night, we found ourselves out in the Elgin field, laying out literally thousands of candles.
To be honest, I was surprised at how fast we worked. I mean, we'd done a trial run in Elgin's basement to see how fast we could lay out a single letter (I think I actually owe Gary a doubloon as a result) but I was impressed at how well it scaled. Many hands do make light work.
It was well-planned, too. We knew where to hide the candles during the day, found holes in the fence (no elaboration), figured out that butane safety-lighters probably weren't the best thing for lighting 2000-odd candles. We knew exactly what time it began to get dark (7:54), what time it would be fully dark (9:00), and, most importantly, what time Rez staff got off duty (1:15). Using trig, eyeballs, and common sense, we found the best place to lay out the candles such that they wouldn't be extinguished by wet grass or set dry grass on fire. We figured out how to get up to the roof.
At 1:25, all the candles were lit. Our cipher (Gary's term, of course), Karen, went down to the Academic Cafe.
"Gary, you took English last year, right?" Karen asked. "Can you help me with this?" And Gary, in his brusque manner, decided it was "time for a break," and led Ashley up to the roof.
As ground crew, I stayed back to make sure that none of the candles ignited the field. After all, we'd already had a fire alarm that night (forcing us to strip ourselves of outer layers and cover our work) and seen police cars move slowly by. I had a thermos full at all times, just in case. (Fun fact: my "safety" thermos was full of tea. Surprise!)
That said, there was fun on the ground, to be sure. Dan DaSilva was running interference to avoid moment-spoilage up on the roof. We had a rhythm down: we'd tell people what it said, and wave them off. The best moment was definitely when Dan ran interference for a couple.
"What does it say?" the girl asked.
We told her, and she swooned. "Alright, we've seen it. Let's go," said her man.
At 1:45, Gary came running out, breathless. "It was just great," he said. "We did it." And (because I desperately wanted to see our work) we went up to the 5-East stairwell.
To see it on the ground was one thing. I love building cool things, and this was, to my mind, about as cool as it gets. But from far up, everything looked different. Ancillary things; trees, poles, fences, all these things vanished as all that remained was a glow of something beautiful. It transcended my love of design as I saw what the rest of Elgin saw: a message of love, and our last great adventure of the year.
The experience was best summed up by Gary as he and Heather and I rode the elevator back down:
"I hope she'll think of it when she's in a vacant or pensive mood."
"Pensive, eh?" I remarked, bemused.
Gary continued, undeterred.
"For oft when on her couch she lies,
In vacant or in pensive mood
They'll flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then her heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
[...Now, what'd you think of that? My main reason for posting it is simply because it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read, in a similar way as Moeko's Owl. (As well, it's a good reminder that MIT doesn't have a monopoly on competent hacks!) But my other reason for posting it is that Raffi is curious whether, and to what degree, the perception of this event's beauty is transferable to people who weren't there and/or don't know the people involved. So post your reactions!]