The only way is to experiment and act inventively and exuberantly via diverse adventures in living

Buzz Holling paraphrased on ecosystem and social collapse

I like it!

Definitionism

The tendency to excessively define (and occasionally thereby create) things, so as to bring them under control and demonstrate one's superior understanding of the world.

With apologies to D Coupland.

Imaginary wages

Imaginary wages war. Real wages. Fantasy land on downtime. 9 to 5 he said. He told me. Cody. Imaginary wages war. There for all to see, and them to ignore. Still there some thirty years on. The moment I was born, I never thought I'd live to see 30. Still don't. Fenestration collapse, two more to follow. Seed funds. Take it to the bank. Drift Floaters. Everyone's throwing this expression around and I don't even know what it means, though it sounds good. Wait for it. Foam.

Marketing

"The industry's regular task is to create uninformed consumers who will make irrational choices, thus undermining market theories."

Noam Chomsky, you've done it again.

1000 snuggles deep

When I first met him it was funny, because I was his daughter. But I was still admittedly nervous. We went upstairs for coffee. Things began to ravel from there, much as they always do when one refuses to relax the sphinctre of life. Sceptre of death. He's just a snappy dresser.

I grew up wearing suits. I tried jeans but I never felt comfortable as my testes often got caught in the back pocket. Go figure. Everybody knows that the good guys lost, by the way. Stoudemire, Bosh and Davis.

Winning through number crunching

In this day and age, it’s become almost passe for journalists, fans and players alike to be able to analyse in-depth the statistics from theirs and other players’ games. We take this for granted, yet this information and sophisticated analysis just wasn’t possible a few short years ago.

I guess it’s just slowly dawning on me now the enormous potential out there, if the tools are right. Check out the brilliant resultsfromtennis.com.

I’ve just done a fairly basic run, from the perspective of a commentator preparing for a big grand slam match.

And the results, allowing me to appear quite the well prepared commentating genius:

rage against the commentators

Well it certainly was a fairytale performance from Jelena Dokic at the Australian Open. She won our hearts and took us on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. It's fair to say that there hasn't been an Open this full of drama and intrigue since last year.

God I hate some of the crap that commentators come up with. First off is Alicia Molik, who is putting on a truly awful audition for a long term commentary position. Lucky for her she's only competing against Johanna Griggs, Tracy Austin and Casey Bevilaqua. Did you see her post-match interview of Dinara Safina?

Molik: How many off seasons have you had?
Safina: [blank look]
Molik: How many off seasons have you had?
Safina: What?
Molik:[thinking to herself: god, i'm asking her a supremely incisive question, that demonstrates my ability as a commentator, and she can't speak english]
Molik: [tugging collar] what i'm trying to say is.. er...ah geez... you look great, i mean when i played you, you were a fat piece of shit. What's your secret?
Safina: Shut the fuck up

The other thing I hate is when an Australian player loses and their performance is called 'brave'. This is especially reserved for really bad players, really bad losses and women players. Oh my fuck, that Jelena Dokic is so brave! If I had to go into the forest at night I'd want her with me. Did you see how she made 45 unforced errors? She's so brave. Can you imagine if Lleyton Hewitt's loss to Fernando Gonzalez was referred to as brave? Or Pat Rafter's loss to Ivanisevic in the Wimbledon final? C'mon, what is that?! Let's all try to use brave far more frequently and inappropriately. By the way, I thought Del Potro's loss to Federer was very brave.

Lastly (for now) I hate it that tennis commentators, more than cricket or league or football commentators, always give advice to the losing players. Dokic really needs to stop going for the lines. She needs controlled aggression. If I was her, that's what I'd do, and it would make me win and beat Safina. I don't know why she's not doing it. Just call the game, give us a little bit of insight due to your years on the tour, and leave it at that. BASTARDS!

Dokic should have won

A tribute to Philip Glass

Gosper Motion at its best

well i've ixhumed some fine, fine science writing and had my buddy Artful Science post it at his blog. If you want to read it, please read it
- Cure cancer? Sure can sir!
- Rethinking health promotion
- Response to green genes

~~~

We all know that Channel Nine's exciting infrared HotSpot technology allows us to detect cricketers with boners. But have they ever used Snickometer to discover the sound a ball makes when it strikes the batsman's box?

My idea of a good time

But first - shock! - there's a new post o'er at artful science. It concerns my strange and enlightening journey on the path to newborn vitamin k administration.

But second - my idea of a good time!

I have in my smoking hot beautiful hands the following books from the UNSW library

Metamagical themas: questing for the essence of mind and pattern
Perhaps my favourite work of Hofstadter's. It contains a real mix of essays and articles, covering nuclear armageddon, superrationality, analogy as the crux of creativity, nonsense (Arthur a grammar!) and many, many more. I'll own this one day.

Schrodinger's kittens and the search for reality
Physics populariser extraordinaire John Gribbin writes about light, and quantum theory, transactions and reality. If time slows down as you speed up, and if it approaches zero as you approach the speed of light, what would it be like to travel at the speed of light? Time wouldn't pass, right? So there's essentially zero time (and zero distance) between the source and receiver of a photon, even if the source is a quasar 13 billion years from your eye.

The origins of the future: ten questions for the next ten years
Gribbin again, I was hoping for more of his magic but, crucially, updated. I lost interest after the first chapter, which was actually a great introduction to the state of quantum theory/matter/waves/particles as it stands today. It's pretty fucking weird, but utterly fascinating.

Quantum psychology: how brain software programs you and your world
I picked this because it was the only title by Robert Anton Wilson they had. It's not bad, I've come across many of these ideas in Cosmic Trigger and Illuminati, plus I've realised that a lot of what he says is strange common sense (to my mind anyway), yet he phrases it in a very distinctive style, one many would call new age or oddball or dissenting or something like that. Well, the fact that he feels compelled to use the word quantum shows you what I mean. For example, perception is not a passive process of signal receipt, but active interpretation of signals based on current (and past) brain/mind states. We don't 'see reality', we weave it, and he ties this to ideas from quantum theory.

Consider a spherical cow: a course in environmental problem solving
I originally looked up a separate ecological statistics book, but this one looked far more interesting. I needed it for a small project I'm working on at the moment. A bit deluded to think I could catch up on my mostly forgotten maths, but damn it I don't care.

Ecological data
Same project as above. This caught my eye because of it's good overview of methods in ecology, including metadata and geographical information systems.

A primer of statistics: data analysis, probability, inference
My textbook from first year statistics. Great little book, starting with box plots and working up to chi square tests and some nifty algebra.

Regional climate change and variability: impacts and responses
This one could be the key to my little project, but I haven't gotten past the introduction!

Climate change 2007: the physical science basis: contribution of Working Group 1 to the Fourth Ass
Who ever heard of so many colons?! Otherwise known as the IPCC report, I'd like to check out some of the nittier grittier parts of this. Slick production. Weighty tome. Tome.

Subjective probability: the real thing
Title appealed to me, sadly the real thing hasn't corresponded to my hopes, yay my dreams. Guy writes with flair, but it ain't no good.

Ice, mud and blood: lessons from climates past
Popular science type entry for my mini-project, the first few chapters go into some interesting ideas about what the planet was like in the past. Dere was some big ice ages (Snowball earth) and some hot, hot times. Not quite sure why I put it down.

Climate code red: the case for emergency action
I saw one of the authors speak last year, and he was convinced we need to assume a war footing. Forget this 0.01% of the economy spent on climate change, we need to spend 30 or 40 or 50%. He was particularly grim about the fate of the arctic.

It's all for sale: the control of global resources
Without having read it, I reckon this is the type of book that should be compulsory reading in, say late high school. A rundown of all the natural resources that are exploited - by whom, for whom, how much etc.

Alternative lyrics - christina aguilera's fighter

Makes me that much harder
Probably last a little bit longer
Makes my schlong much wider
Thanks for giving me Viagra

Thanks to Channel Ten for endlessly playing part of this song as they promote their programme 'a smallest winner'

Contraction all around me

The ominous forces gathering out there will defeat these efforts and everyday life will reorganize itself some other way consistent with the single greatest trend: the force of contraction.

JRK, Clusterfuck Nation

Happy post #200, Hammertime's Brog!!

On time

there are some who say time doesn't exist - that there is no flow of time. they say that the case for a flow of time has been convincingly demolished (for instance by Deutsch in Fabric of Reality). Yet they don't deny existence. They assert many states of the world; and that time is inferred from each state - states exist, movement between them is nonsensical; at least it doesn't occur. it stands to reason from this terrible introduction that two similar states, even if separated by a lot of 'time' in real life, can have a weird and strong connection. to wit, third time hanging out 10 or so identicalish white cloth nappies, and those little pink microfleece inserts, transports me back in time, or to the same place in time each time. odd feeling indeed.

Blowout

Most people don't know that the original title of Fellini's Blow Up was actually Blowout - he'd been watching a lot of daytime TV at the time and was inspired by these two simple words. It was only when he tried to register the trademark in English that he was sued for copyright infringement by the creators of Burners, Blowouts and Boobs. Poor Fellini.

***

I was walking along Stanmore Rd the other day when I heard a plastic metal tinkle. I looked around and - lo and behold - there was a two dollar coin, ending its roll and coming to a stop, but not before doing that immensely satisfying increasing frequency half roll on the spot thing. Man, I love that sound. Well I looked around and I'll be damned if there was no one else around. There were a few cars passing by but I didn't believe for a second that the coin had emerged from one of them. It was one of those curious things that might have gotten some people thinking, might have gotten them freaked out even. Well not me. I picked up the little sucker and walked home.

A week later, also coming home from goddamned work, I noticed a shiny golden metal shine on the footpath. I bent over, exposing my buttcrack, and picked it up. I remembered those cruel people who glue coins to the ground and watch as others pathetically try to pick them up. Now I knew something funny was afoot. I stayed perched down there for half a second and then did a big squirm and spin around. Someone had shoved something into my butt crack. There was a couple of guys walking in the other direction that must have done it, but why the hell I'd no idea. I felt in and pulled out another two dollar coin. That was three in a week, and two in a few seconds.

I think you know where this is going, but before you get ahead of yourself, let me fill you in on a little secret. I once stole a seal from the zoo - double bagged it and walked right out. Well I'm just itching to tell you more about what happened next, but that'll have to wait for another day.

If 30 mobile phones ring in a carriage, and no one hears them because there are 30 sets of narrowcasting headphones, do they make a noise?

or

Public transport headphone madness
I know what you’re thinking. Yes, people listen to music on public transport. Nothing new there. We’ve landed on the moon. That’s old news. I never gave it much thought either.

Until recently.

In recent times, unencumbered by work worries or indeed worries of any other kind, I have thought in some depth about the question, what is with all these headphone wearing fatherfuckers on public transport? What are the implications, the ramifications, the tribulations?

I suspect that your average Emma has considered the issue, in a flickering subconscious kind of way, and if pressed (on the solar plexus) would advise of certain issues.
What is with people who play their music so loud that you can hear it? Aren’t they hurting their ear drums? That’s so rude.
Mmm, it’s nice not having to feel the impingement of all these other consciousnesses on my consciousness as we sit in this crowded moving box.
My music’s not on but fuck it, I ain’t taking the ear plugs out. People are leaving me a lone.
Bugger, my battery’s dead.

So I gathered some data. 12 bus rides, 10 train rides, several parkpath walks. My results are not statistically significant but for my purposes today that doesn’t bother any one one whit. Here are the figures:
Bus: 39% of all passengers wear headphones
Train: 46% of all passengers wear headphones
Park walkers: 25% of all pederasts, I mean pedestrians, wear headphones.

I have no doubt, these numbers are conservative. I voted for the shooter’s party at the last three local elections. ipOd and mp3 penetration will continue unfettered. Old non-listening folks will die off. The bus drivers will start wearing them. The percentages will climb.

We’re all stars, or perhaps supporting cast, in our own movies. The soundtrack floods our ears while we stroll down the street.

Except when we're victims of the new ipOd-Invade, which can broadcast your music for 30m in all directions, parasitising existing headphones.

People are living very, very different commuter lives these days. No one talks – unless it’s on the phone to someone somewhere else. Do they think? In the way they might think in other situations? (as a card carrying over thinker, with scant little to show for it, I’m loathe to ascribe judgement to this). And I’m afraid that probably not many of them listen either. At least not the way good music deserves to be listened to. This is tv on to keep you company, headphones on to block out the others, your thoughts, your pain. Hey, these are valid purposes.

But like TV, we receive. As others have said, we live in a strange world nowaday. There is so much information, so much broadcast, so much noise with seeming meaning in it – but with very limited opportunities for a meaningful reply. We can but do naught in its face. There is no appropriate response, but to receive. The relationship between information and action has changed, has been disturbed.

Maybe if I thought about it some more I’d figure out what it all means. These public transport headphones. Or I might find out it means nothing. Nothing but fodder for me, silly me.

The First Ever Z Generation Concert

Now that a few weeks have passed and the dust motes are in their last throes of settlement, there are a few lessons I think can be drawn from the event.

For those who’ve been living on Jupiter this last month, here’s a précis of what happened at Pod People in the Park (also known as the Sugarloaf Shuffle). A truly cross-genre concert was held in a big park by the name of Sugarloaf in California on October 24. Rock, reggae, world music, any genre you might care to name. This was a big event, a long day, and a long night. Some big big names, but also a broad, broad smattering of lesser known musicians. A common theme: one hit wonders. As with many festivals these days, there was also a personal, or spiritual, or psychological, or self-help aspect. There were even language lessons.

It was an all-ages concert, and of course it was the younger ones who fully mastered the technology. Some genius figured out a way to create a distributed electronic transmitting device, handed out to concertgoers, whose thousands upon thousands of inputs would be summed, at intervals as regular as you please, into a single, simple output.

The first few acts were massive. They only played a couple of songs each, but that seems to be the trend at festivals these days. The crowd was right into it. I won’t go into the names, but these were your top ten, grammy award winning, rolling stone magazine covering kinds of acts. The next act was just as big, but they only played one song. Go figure. The crowd seemed to like this.

The next five songs were all played by different acts, and not one of them finished their song. Weirdly, some of them went straight into the chorus, then finished. Even weirder – some of them went straight into the catchiest part of their song, even if it wasn’t the chorus, and played that, and then stopped. A few poor bands were cut off after playing the first bar – a fate that was strangely spared for songs that had a slow build up. Some bands that had already played came back and played again. The stage was a whir of roadies, instruments changed, drum kits frantically assembled and reassembled. The roadies were friggin incredible, they must have all lost 35 pounds by the end of the day.

Embarrassingly, at one point in the day a really long, and rather boring song went on for what seemed like an hour, but was probably only 10 minutes – the crowd was temporarily distracted by an event on the other side of the field and didn’t seem to mind anyway.

Well, the concert went on, and followed this same strange trend. Very frequent band changes, songs often stopped in their middle, old bands reappearing. And by the end of the night, things hadn’t changed – if anything it had gotten a bit worse. Rather than saving up the best names for the end, it was just more of the same, except perhaps their fifth or sixth best songs.

To me, the whole thing was a shambles. Yes, there was an air of expectation associated with trying something new. But in the end there was no atmosphere, no musical build up and release of tension, no anticipation. This is not what concerts are about. If this is what happens with big, bold ideas, give me small and meek ones for chrissakes.

Thing is, the crowd didn’t really seem phased – they were happy to be there, happy for their celebrity musical idols to be there, happy to be taking drugs and chasing members of the opposite or same sex, as the case may have been. I heard the organisers claiming a success and promising a bigger and better P3 next year, but I won’t be there. I’ve spoken to a few people about this and the smart ones agree, the mindless application of technology to our cultural activities is, well, mindless. These people just don’t understand the human condition. Course, seeing as I and a few smart friends are the only ones disagreeing, it could be us that don’t understand. But I don’t think so.

The iPod, and especially the iPod shuffle, are no ways to organise a concert.

From the strangest of roots

Did you hear how Joan Ass Policewoman wrote To Be Lonely?

It’d been a good day at work – productive, but not overly. Lunch was good, but it hadn’t filled all corners of her stomach. Time to go home, but too much time before dinner. Will I do it, yes I will, I’ma heading for the vending machine downstairs in the lobby. So many choices. So many damned choices. Twisties, salt and vinegar chips. A cookie. Chocolate bar. What the – mint Aero?! Nod of the head. This is the one, that I will try. And of course the song flowed from there, and ended up being quite unrecognisable from its snack-based roots.

Artful Science dies on

Withdrawal symptoms. They're enough to make even the most professional of addicts quake in their doc martens. There seems to be a common theme at play in yonder withdrawing brain and it's all to do with what the drug normally does. All drugs are fun, and turn on fun buttons in the brain. (The brain can get used to this, turning down the natural fun machinery because it's rendered superfluous by the drug, and necessitating increased dosage with some drugs for the same fun effect.) In withdrawal, not only are there no drugs around to push the fun buttons, but the brain is so helplessly dependent on artifice for fun, that you feel the exact opposite of fun. My idea is a drug whose effects are so unpleasant and lame, that withdrawal would be an elation-soaked walk in the park. In fact, some addicts may do permanent damage to their brains, damage that would see them unable to experience lows ever gain.

On an unrelated note, every time excitement machine Billy Slater (or Bill Slater, as Rabs Warren calls him - have you noticed how Raymond does that occasionally with players' names?) gets the ball, the whole crowd experiences a collective relaxation of the pelvic floor.

On a related note, Slater's life partner recently had a baby which they named Tyla and amazingly, she has already been promised in marriage to Shannon Noll's firstborn.

Bibularity Dipson

John Birmingham has stolen my (Hofstadter’s?) idea for a novel. Question is – is that done now? After one creates something novel, can others follow and be great? Yes, undoubtedly yes I think.

So the idea, as cutted and paste from my previous incarnation (Clarke, 2008*), is follow as,

Wiping a country off a map (physically). Survivors determine how country lives on. Explore certain themes or do a plain what if scenario. US? Hundreds of thousands of troops, diplomats, cultural exports, expats, etc.

True – I haven’t written the book. But it resides in me like a colossus hidden by six walls of marble. Birmingham’s book was spied by me in the airport bookshop, harold be thy name. On the cover was the title Without Warning^ and beneath it the subtitle, or perhaps nonsubtitular explanatory remark America is gone. I picked not the book up, I perused not its contents. But it naturally recollected my original thought and thoughts about my book idea.

I tried to flesh out the idea some more, to put some more meat on it, to breathe life into it, to feed it nutrients so that its dna and proteins could do their tasks etc. But I was interrupted.

I figured you’d need a setup, explaining how the country is erased. The story would then take place afterwards (maybe straight after, maybe a year, maybe longer). as I’ve not yet written a long story, I’m not sure what the main event would be, but it does seem to me to be endearingly ripe with potential.

* Clarke H, 2008, From A5 notebook, Unpublished Manuscript.

^ I semiforgot the title when writing this, and came up with 'Suddenly'. As I was writing a footnote to explain that this is not the title, I remembered the title – I had the impression that my memory was true`.

` The impression of something being true; the feeling of something being significant, meaningful, profoundly deep – I don’t hear people talking about the importance (scientific, everyday...) of these brain reflexes. Imagine you could take a pill to engender that feeling!