And so it has come to this. A man has arrived at a high station in life.
There is some time for reflecting on the journey that brought him here. And some time to admire the view from these stately surrounds.
But a man is obliged to carry out his duties from this high station and leave those other tasks to the chroniclers of history, of which this man is one, incidentally.
From this position of power and privilege, of opportunity and responsibility, a man may make himself comfortable and settle in for the long haul.
He expects ups and downs, slings and arrows, 300 megaton warheads and spitballs that visit those in this high station.
A man in a station such as this might just have the opportunity to enter some other even higher stations. From which higher stations yet may become available.
How long does it take to get used to such?
A man now acts.
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Friday, February 19, 2016
5 year strategy for making promises
They say there is a time and a place for everything. Who knew they were talking about multiverses?
It makes one shake one's head and tilt the pelvis backwards.
Some say that there's a parallel universe where some important decision you took - e.g. what to order in the food court in Chinatown - actually went another way. And every other parameter in the whole fucking universe remained constant. Only now, things are unfolding in dizzily different directions, all because you ordered chicken laksa instead of vegie laksa. I mean, the vegetables they give you are often terrible, but then the chicken is often weird too. I think maybe it's an egret.
But there's a parallel universe where I'm not depressed. Where life spat in my eye, but I laughed uncontrollably, then for 10 minutes controllably, then uncontrollably again, and so on in alternating recurrence FOR EVER. What a universe that would be.
But there's just too many to catalogue. Certainly in excess of 1,00,0.
The thing is, each passerby that I try to tell my life story to just looks at me with irritation. Except those folks selling things. They're so full of beans. They're jumping up and down and dancing. They go to shake my hand. I take it and hold on a moment too long. Yes, God yes I do want to hear about this cooling out study opportunity. But first, may I share with you... my life story. It won't take long. Only... my whole life!
In fact it would take much longer than that, as any half sane jackass could tell you. I mean, you can spend half an hour just telling someone about that time you wiped your ass 7 straight times and never once did clean tissue emerge. When in reality, that portion of your life took only 4-6 minutes. And so it can take a damn long time to tell your life's story. Maybe even the length of the life of the universe! But not the multiverse, because those are different stories.
Have you tried narrative therapy? I think they read you fairy tales. I love reading my kids fairy tales. At times we're lying there, and one of them will transform into a werewolf. They're crouching on the bed, very long of torso, at least 2/3 of the bed length, dark, sweaty, dirty hair. Breath that smells like dog. Some stray hand dangling out of the corner of their mouth. They HOOOOWWWLLLL at the moon, and bump their head on the bunk.
Then I'm back at uni, in those smoke filled lecture theatres. It's hard to believe that every student used to bring their own smoke machine into the theatre. It was incredibly atmospheric, but I couldn't see the screen at all. I pull out my DNA Ray Gun and survey the room. Makenzi from Botany has more life forms on her than Dane from the Lower Middle North Shore. Neither of them can tell me how to treat cancer.
It was a love story, a love story between two screens. I had been worried that my wife and I were drifting apart - literally, not figuratively. She would retreat to her room, eyes fixed to that blasted eyephone screen. I would flee to my room, one eye glued to my laptop screen, the other bluetacked to it, as I had run out of glue. Those were some of the most addictive times of my life. God I discovered so much. She watched so many documentaries. But we recognised that we had a problem. Fortunately our screens solved the problem for us, by beginning a passionate love affair. It started innocently, when I placed a condom over my wife's phone and rested it gently on my keyboard and then firmly closed the laptop cover. But before long, these two screens were inseparable. They were photographed for TMZ, they planned nuptials. So different, such different backgrounds. Wrong side of the tracks and all that jazz. But they found a way, which in this day and age is pretty much par for the course. In all days and ages it's been par for the course, finding a way just means not breaking up. Y'know. And I'm happy to say they were legally married - in the ACT, which allows weird shit like that.
"I'll never love another"
"How can you know that?"
"I just do"
"But how can you? You really can't know that"
"Fine you might be right but I felt like saying it, doesn't that count for something?"
"Why not just say 'I hope I never love another?'"
"Because that is unromantic as all get in"
"Fool me you kiss"
Until she discovered that it wasn't a possum eating the chicken food. Pressing down on the lever. It was a person. Making possum sounds. Oh shit that is so weird and scary. This person was crawling past their bedroom window every single night at about midnight, crawling into the chicken coop, growling like a possum, opening the chicken feeder lid and then moving on. So scary. It really doesn't pay to entertain the full weirdness of the world too much. That shit'll burst your dam.
It makes one shake one's head and tilt the pelvis backwards.
Some say that there's a parallel universe where some important decision you took - e.g. what to order in the food court in Chinatown - actually went another way. And every other parameter in the whole fucking universe remained constant. Only now, things are unfolding in dizzily different directions, all because you ordered chicken laksa instead of vegie laksa. I mean, the vegetables they give you are often terrible, but then the chicken is often weird too. I think maybe it's an egret.
But there's a parallel universe where I'm not depressed. Where life spat in my eye, but I laughed uncontrollably, then for 10 minutes controllably, then uncontrollably again, and so on in alternating recurrence FOR EVER. What a universe that would be.
But there's just too many to catalogue. Certainly in excess of 1,00,0.
The thing is, each passerby that I try to tell my life story to just looks at me with irritation. Except those folks selling things. They're so full of beans. They're jumping up and down and dancing. They go to shake my hand. I take it and hold on a moment too long. Yes, God yes I do want to hear about this cooling out study opportunity. But first, may I share with you... my life story. It won't take long. Only... my whole life!
In fact it would take much longer than that, as any half sane jackass could tell you. I mean, you can spend half an hour just telling someone about that time you wiped your ass 7 straight times and never once did clean tissue emerge. When in reality, that portion of your life took only 4-6 minutes. And so it can take a damn long time to tell your life's story. Maybe even the length of the life of the universe! But not the multiverse, because those are different stories.
Have you tried narrative therapy? I think they read you fairy tales. I love reading my kids fairy tales. At times we're lying there, and one of them will transform into a werewolf. They're crouching on the bed, very long of torso, at least 2/3 of the bed length, dark, sweaty, dirty hair. Breath that smells like dog. Some stray hand dangling out of the corner of their mouth. They HOOOOWWWLLLL at the moon, and bump their head on the bunk.
Then I'm back at uni, in those smoke filled lecture theatres. It's hard to believe that every student used to bring their own smoke machine into the theatre. It was incredibly atmospheric, but I couldn't see the screen at all. I pull out my DNA Ray Gun and survey the room. Makenzi from Botany has more life forms on her than Dane from the Lower Middle North Shore. Neither of them can tell me how to treat cancer.
It was a love story, a love story between two screens. I had been worried that my wife and I were drifting apart - literally, not figuratively. She would retreat to her room, eyes fixed to that blasted eyephone screen. I would flee to my room, one eye glued to my laptop screen, the other bluetacked to it, as I had run out of glue. Those were some of the most addictive times of my life. God I discovered so much. She watched so many documentaries. But we recognised that we had a problem. Fortunately our screens solved the problem for us, by beginning a passionate love affair. It started innocently, when I placed a condom over my wife's phone and rested it gently on my keyboard and then firmly closed the laptop cover. But before long, these two screens were inseparable. They were photographed for TMZ, they planned nuptials. So different, such different backgrounds. Wrong side of the tracks and all that jazz. But they found a way, which in this day and age is pretty much par for the course. In all days and ages it's been par for the course, finding a way just means not breaking up. Y'know. And I'm happy to say they were legally married - in the ACT, which allows weird shit like that.
"I'll never love another"
"How can you know that?"
"I just do"
"But how can you? You really can't know that"
"Fine you might be right but I felt like saying it, doesn't that count for something?"
"Why not just say 'I hope I never love another?'"
"Because that is unromantic as all get in"
"Fool me you kiss"
Until she discovered that it wasn't a possum eating the chicken food. Pressing down on the lever. It was a person. Making possum sounds. Oh shit that is so weird and scary. This person was crawling past their bedroom window every single night at about midnight, crawling into the chicken coop, growling like a possum, opening the chicken feeder lid and then moving on. So scary. It really doesn't pay to entertain the full weirdness of the world too much. That shit'll burst your dam.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Public sector fairytales
The Loafer, the Neighbour and the Passers By
Once there was a loafer. He did his share of work, but he did more than his share of loafing, if that's possible.
The loafer's work was desk-based, and not just desk-based, but desktop computer-based. As such, his preferred method of loafing was grazing on a varied diet of websites, including but not limited to media outlets, blogs, discussion fora and twitter accounts.
Now, the loafer lived, err sorry, worked in an open plan office. Open plan offices had desks but no walls (and by extension, no doors, for you cannot have a door without a wall). However, para-walls were built from desk partitions, extensions of the desk that rose upwards two or three feet and gave the appearance of a wall while the occupant was seated.
Within open plan offices there were two kinds of desk (and computer screens) - those in sight of the eyes of passers by and those not thus exposed. The loafer sat at a desk and computer screen that were indeed in sight of passers by. However, the loafer was at the more favourable of two other types of desk - those that give warning of the imminent arrival of passers by and those that do not.
If it so happened that the loafer noticed an incoming passer by, which happened a dozen or more times a day, and the loafer happened to be loafing, which also happened a dozen or more times a day, he was able to quickly close, minimise, or switch from the internet browser tab to which he'd been attending (depending on a complex constellation of factors such as unread length of article, ease of relocating the tab, the presence of other work-related tabs, the presence of other active programs and the existence of other activities on a second screen or separate laptop) before the passer by was able to see that the loafer was indeed loafing.
The passer by had not a clue that the loafer had been loafing, and the loafer needed only wait a moment for the passer by to pass by, whereupon he could resume loafing.
Seated on the other side of the loafer's partition was a fellow worker who also did his share of working, but struggled to fill his share of loafing. While seated at his desk, he had no view of the loafer, the loafer's desk or the loafer's computer screen. However, he did have a view of oncoming passers by. He also had an observant nature.
Over time, the loafer's neighbour began to notice that sometimes when a passer by approached, a single mouse click could be heard from the loafer's side of the partition. Further, most of the time this mouse click was accompanied by a second mouse click some 5 to 10 seconds after the passer by had disappeared.
The neighbour approached the loafer with his theory, which I'm sure you can guess, and which the loafer confirmed with a mixture of surprise and shame.
For some time afterwards, the loafer's telltale mouseclick was nowhere to be heard when people passed by.
The neighbour at first assumed that the loafer had ceased loafing. But as time passed, and with the neighbour himself unable to resist loafing from time to time, he decided this was not possible.
The neighbour at first suspected that the loafer was somehow obscuring the noise of the mouse click, but ruled that out as being technically implausible. He then realised that there were other means of obscuring non-work related websites, such as by keyboard shortcuts or (much less likely) switching the monitor off or (very much less likely) throwing some kind of garment over the screen.
Even more diabolically, the neighbour wondered, could the loafer be employing a random mixture of mouseclicks, keyboard shortcuts and screen switch offs, so as to evade detection by the neighbour?
At last, the neighbour could take it no longer, and confronted the loafer. How had he been obscuring his loafing?
They both glanced at the loafer's screen, upon which a sports website was loaded, and the loafer said that he hadn't been obscuring anything.
All of which goes to show, somehow, that
Once there was a loafer. He did his share of work, but he did more than his share of loafing, if that's possible.
The loafer's work was desk-based, and not just desk-based, but desktop computer-based. As such, his preferred method of loafing was grazing on a varied diet of websites, including but not limited to media outlets, blogs, discussion fora and twitter accounts.
Now, the loafer lived, err sorry, worked in an open plan office. Open plan offices had desks but no walls (and by extension, no doors, for you cannot have a door without a wall). However, para-walls were built from desk partitions, extensions of the desk that rose upwards two or three feet and gave the appearance of a wall while the occupant was seated.
Within open plan offices there were two kinds of desk (and computer screens) - those in sight of the eyes of passers by and those not thus exposed. The loafer sat at a desk and computer screen that were indeed in sight of passers by. However, the loafer was at the more favourable of two other types of desk - those that give warning of the imminent arrival of passers by and those that do not.
If it so happened that the loafer noticed an incoming passer by, which happened a dozen or more times a day, and the loafer happened to be loafing, which also happened a dozen or more times a day, he was able to quickly close, minimise, or switch from the internet browser tab to which he'd been attending (depending on a complex constellation of factors such as unread length of article, ease of relocating the tab, the presence of other work-related tabs, the presence of other active programs and the existence of other activities on a second screen or separate laptop) before the passer by was able to see that the loafer was indeed loafing.
The passer by had not a clue that the loafer had been loafing, and the loafer needed only wait a moment for the passer by to pass by, whereupon he could resume loafing.
Seated on the other side of the loafer's partition was a fellow worker who also did his share of working, but struggled to fill his share of loafing. While seated at his desk, he had no view of the loafer, the loafer's desk or the loafer's computer screen. However, he did have a view of oncoming passers by. He also had an observant nature.
Over time, the loafer's neighbour began to notice that sometimes when a passer by approached, a single mouse click could be heard from the loafer's side of the partition. Further, most of the time this mouse click was accompanied by a second mouse click some 5 to 10 seconds after the passer by had disappeared.
The neighbour approached the loafer with his theory, which I'm sure you can guess, and which the loafer confirmed with a mixture of surprise and shame.
For some time afterwards, the loafer's telltale mouseclick was nowhere to be heard when people passed by.
The neighbour at first assumed that the loafer had ceased loafing. But as time passed, and with the neighbour himself unable to resist loafing from time to time, he decided this was not possible.
The neighbour at first suspected that the loafer was somehow obscuring the noise of the mouse click, but ruled that out as being technically implausible. He then realised that there were other means of obscuring non-work related websites, such as by keyboard shortcuts or (much less likely) switching the monitor off or (very much less likely) throwing some kind of garment over the screen.
Even more diabolically, the neighbour wondered, could the loafer be employing a random mixture of mouseclicks, keyboard shortcuts and screen switch offs, so as to evade detection by the neighbour?
At last, the neighbour could take it no longer, and confronted the loafer. How had he been obscuring his loafing?
They both glanced at the loafer's screen, upon which a sports website was loaded, and the loafer said that he hadn't been obscuring anything.
All of which goes to show, somehow, that
it is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all
Monday, March 02, 2015
On Time
Who was the first ever person to be on time?
Who was the first ever person to be late?
And what were those situations? Some caveman, agreed to meet a cavewoman at sundown? He got there at sundown and she got there at sunup?
Or did it happen much later? Much, much later, in fact? Indeed could it have been, that prior to about 200 BC, no one had ever been late or on time? I'll have to check with literature and folk tales of the time, but I wouldn't rule out this daring, breathtaking hypothesis.
And an argument, if not in favour of this, then surely not against it, is that I can't think of a single Aesop's fable about promptness or tardiness. I know, I know, the hare and the tortoise. To which I'd reply: are you sure that's by Aesop? And even if it were, it's not really about punctuality. It's a race, dammit. People have been racing since they were bacteria, at least chasing and chasing ain't far off racing, I should think (as my daughter likes to say).
And what is with being late and on time (preferably not at the same time)?
I'm generally pretty good with being on time, but I'll cut it fine a-sometimes.
There's the cut it fine crew, then those that do complete lateness blowouts. 30 minutes, an hour, even more. Of course by specifying those times it's clear I'm not talking about a contract to build a spaceship of the sea or anything of that scale.
And some are late, until they phone their meeter, then they're on time again, but will often then become late again for a second time!
And it's far less of a thing to be early. Far less spoken about, really. Underrated, even?
So it's something about people's attitude to their own time, and other people's time. Is it a possession? Something to keep, guard, use? A currency, something to spend or save? Is it a dimension, something to move around in? I think that each and every one of us has our own peculiar perception of time and the role we have to play in maintaining some kind of mastery over it. Or not.
And so I propose to found the Journal of Lateness, accompanied by the Blog of Lateness, and the hip reality show My Lateness Rules. We must document, catalogue and study this phenomenon until the cows come home, on time or not.
ps there may be a spinoff Journal of Cancellation
Who was the first ever person to be late?
And what were those situations? Some caveman, agreed to meet a cavewoman at sundown? He got there at sundown and she got there at sunup?
Or did it happen much later? Much, much later, in fact? Indeed could it have been, that prior to about 200 BC, no one had ever been late or on time? I'll have to check with literature and folk tales of the time, but I wouldn't rule out this daring, breathtaking hypothesis.
And an argument, if not in favour of this, then surely not against it, is that I can't think of a single Aesop's fable about promptness or tardiness. I know, I know, the hare and the tortoise. To which I'd reply: are you sure that's by Aesop? And even if it were, it's not really about punctuality. It's a race, dammit. People have been racing since they were bacteria, at least chasing and chasing ain't far off racing, I should think (as my daughter likes to say).
And what is with being late and on time (preferably not at the same time)?
I'm generally pretty good with being on time, but I'll cut it fine a-sometimes.
There's the cut it fine crew, then those that do complete lateness blowouts. 30 minutes, an hour, even more. Of course by specifying those times it's clear I'm not talking about a contract to build a spaceship of the sea or anything of that scale.
And some are late, until they phone their meeter, then they're on time again, but will often then become late again for a second time!
And it's far less of a thing to be early. Far less spoken about, really. Underrated, even?
So it's something about people's attitude to their own time, and other people's time. Is it a possession? Something to keep, guard, use? A currency, something to spend or save? Is it a dimension, something to move around in? I think that each and every one of us has our own peculiar perception of time and the role we have to play in maintaining some kind of mastery over it. Or not.
And so I propose to found the Journal of Lateness, accompanied by the Blog of Lateness, and the hip reality show My Lateness Rules. We must document, catalogue and study this phenomenon until the cows come home, on time or not.
ps there may be a spinoff Journal of Cancellation
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Hammertime's Brog Apologises
I am very sorry that there have been no brog posts in the last year. Believe you me, I've been wery busy.
But. Now that has changed. I'm not busy no more longer!
So. You can look forward to many more posts this year of our Lord 2015.
~~~
Screen Shots - an incomprehensibly colossal idea for a tv series / doco
It's a series of short (5-15 min?) vignettes of different people at their screens. After all, screens dominate our lives nowadays, to the point that Arcade Fire sings about 'we fell in love and now I'm staring at the screen'.
I was initially thinking office block folk, but we could expand to phones, tablets etc.
So what would happen? I'm glad you ask. We'd meet the person. See them doing what they do. See their issues. See how they use their screen. Their common programs. The extent of complaint/frustration/love\hate relationship with their screen. Importantly, the cleanliness of their desktop. And finally their stance towards updates.
eg me
- flip open the laptop once i've found a seat on the train
- startup is pretty quick. if i'm not careful the sound is up, playing that stupid mac startup sound, even worse if i'm on a quiet carriage
- frequently found flexing my wrists
- try to gaze off into the distance in between screenstares
- love my keyboard shortcuts - switching between programs
- generally have music on in the background. sometimes aids concentration, sometimes abets, sometimes ahinders
- got my little list of things to do in notepad. no formatting, no bullshit - never crashes!
- got my random writings folder
- got word. bloody word. obviously great at some things, but what's been getting me lately is the inability to work with two docs at the same time. found an answer of sorts - turn one into a pdf!
- working with matlab, ncl
- reading pdfs
- got personal photos scrolling thru on background, will intermittently upload from phone via bluetooth
- there's magic in opening up a computer; similar to magic in opening up browser. of course i know the crushing reality, but that magic isn't completely gone. it's the possibility of something more, something new. an adventure. wow, so it's come to this. this is what passes for adventure these days.
Wouldn't you watch this show? Don't you feel it'd capture something fresh and vital about our horrible, catatonic addiction to our screens? And that it might help people become more aware of their sickness, that they might cast off their chains, in favour of overhead projectors?
I shouldn't get too ahead of myself, it's physically impossible.
~~~
Kind regards,
The End
But. Now that has changed. I'm not busy no more longer!
So. You can look forward to many more posts this year of our Lord 2015.
~~~
Screen Shots - an incomprehensibly colossal idea for a tv series / doco
It's a series of short (5-15 min?) vignettes of different people at their screens. After all, screens dominate our lives nowadays, to the point that Arcade Fire sings about 'we fell in love and now I'm staring at the screen'.
I was initially thinking office block folk, but we could expand to phones, tablets etc.
So what would happen? I'm glad you ask. We'd meet the person. See them doing what they do. See their issues. See how they use their screen. Their common programs. The extent of complaint/frustration/love\hate relationship with their screen. Importantly, the cleanliness of their desktop. And finally their stance towards updates.
eg me
- flip open the laptop once i've found a seat on the train
- startup is pretty quick. if i'm not careful the sound is up, playing that stupid mac startup sound, even worse if i'm on a quiet carriage
- frequently found flexing my wrists
- try to gaze off into the distance in between screenstares
- love my keyboard shortcuts - switching between programs
- generally have music on in the background. sometimes aids concentration, sometimes abets, sometimes ahinders
- got my little list of things to do in notepad. no formatting, no bullshit - never crashes!
- got my random writings folder
- got word. bloody word. obviously great at some things, but what's been getting me lately is the inability to work with two docs at the same time. found an answer of sorts - turn one into a pdf!
- working with matlab, ncl
- reading pdfs
- got personal photos scrolling thru on background, will intermittently upload from phone via bluetooth
- there's magic in opening up a computer; similar to magic in opening up browser. of course i know the crushing reality, but that magic isn't completely gone. it's the possibility of something more, something new. an adventure. wow, so it's come to this. this is what passes for adventure these days.
Wouldn't you watch this show? Don't you feel it'd capture something fresh and vital about our horrible, catatonic addiction to our screens? And that it might help people become more aware of their sickness, that they might cast off their chains, in favour of overhead projectors?
I shouldn't get too ahead of myself, it's physically impossible.
~~~
Kind regards,
The End
Monday, December 30, 2013
I haven't got a dream
It occurred to me recently that I do not have a dream. Not literally speaking; I dream all the time. But I don't have a life's mission, or even a series of personal banner headlines I'd like to make happen.
When did this happen? Surely I had a mission earlier in life. As a child, or a teen, or a budding young budder. Now, it seems I'm a buddha.
Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of things I like, and love. I've even written about them before. And I recently revisited this. I'm content most of the time, happy most of the time. Sure I get a little down in the dumps occasionally, but I fall within plus or minus two standard deviations of the rest of the population on this front, I'm almost certain.
So what am I to do? Find a dream? Be content not to dream? Make not having a dream my dream? Or just take a nap?
All correspondence to Letters 4 U 4 Eva, PO Box 668 Strawberry Mound NSW
When did this happen? Surely I had a mission earlier in life. As a child, or a teen, or a budding young budder. Now, it seems I'm a buddha.
Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of things I like, and love. I've even written about them before. And I recently revisited this. I'm content most of the time, happy most of the time. Sure I get a little down in the dumps occasionally, but I fall within plus or minus two standard deviations of the rest of the population on this front, I'm almost certain.
So what am I to do? Find a dream? Be content not to dream? Make not having a dream my dream? Or just take a nap?
All correspondence to Letters 4 U 4 Eva, PO Box 668 Strawberry Mound NSW
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Einstein: a man of many influencing
Albert Einstein once said "My father gave me some tobacco to take with me and I was supposed to hand it to you". And so we see that despite his genius, Einstein fell hook, line and sinker for the lies and deceit of the tobacco industry. To find out why, I asked my two year old daughter. She paused, then replied "Daddy no, I want to find my... my ribbon."
Who was I to argue? I fetched the ribbon and was at once reminded of some other famous words of Einstein: "We shall consider the following ideal state of equilibrium: Let us again have a cylindrical vessel."
Einstein had many fascinating things to say about the meaning of life. And as shown in the above quote, he was fond of considering man's ideal state - something he called equilibrium. But what was this cylindrical vessel of which he spoke? A submarine? Those weren't invented until 1962 so it couldn't have been that. Was it a glass - a humble tumbler, full of beer or apple cider? Could the sly old dog have been talking about prophylactics? We'll never know, sadly, but it only adds to the mystery and genius of the man.
I humbly confess I have aspired at times to be a genius - to be lauded by future generations and have my writings quoted, often with very little relevance to the passage at hand, and even more often taken out of context. I'll concede that I've done little as yet to warrant the moniker 'genius'. I fear that at my age it may not even be possible - what kernel of potential I had in my youth has now dried up, leaving behind just me, a useless husk, able only to mouth the word genius, but not to embody it.
This leads me to my next thought, which is that, sure, we all know about those freaks who people knew would become geniuses, because they could do long division at age 1. But what about those geniuses that arrived late in life? What of the 40 year old who broke on through? Or a 60 or even 100 year old? People who for most of their lives had shown no sign of latent brilliance, until, one day... bam! Could it be possible? Such a late onset of genius? I think it could.
And so, dear reader, I must bid you adieu. I'm not long for this evening, and slumber calls me. It calls me a bogan. What could that even mean, anyway? And what would it mean for the metaphor of reflectors to become commonplace: lights - guides, signposts - that exist only when light is shone onto them? So economical. Brought into existence by the search for meaning, extinguished again as soon as meaning is found. I can't think of anything this is a metaphor for.
And now dear reader we have come full circle, for I've awoken. Now slumber doesn't call me, I call it - I call it over, ceased, finis. Our question for the week: what does slumber call you, and when?
Who was I to argue? I fetched the ribbon and was at once reminded of some other famous words of Einstein: "We shall consider the following ideal state of equilibrium: Let us again have a cylindrical vessel."
Einstein had many fascinating things to say about the meaning of life. And as shown in the above quote, he was fond of considering man's ideal state - something he called equilibrium. But what was this cylindrical vessel of which he spoke? A submarine? Those weren't invented until 1962 so it couldn't have been that. Was it a glass - a humble tumbler, full of beer or apple cider? Could the sly old dog have been talking about prophylactics? We'll never know, sadly, but it only adds to the mystery and genius of the man.
I humbly confess I have aspired at times to be a genius - to be lauded by future generations and have my writings quoted, often with very little relevance to the passage at hand, and even more often taken out of context. I'll concede that I've done little as yet to warrant the moniker 'genius'. I fear that at my age it may not even be possible - what kernel of potential I had in my youth has now dried up, leaving behind just me, a useless husk, able only to mouth the word genius, but not to embody it.
This leads me to my next thought, which is that, sure, we all know about those freaks who people knew would become geniuses, because they could do long division at age 1. But what about those geniuses that arrived late in life? What of the 40 year old who broke on through? Or a 60 or even 100 year old? People who for most of their lives had shown no sign of latent brilliance, until, one day... bam! Could it be possible? Such a late onset of genius? I think it could.
And so, dear reader, I must bid you adieu. I'm not long for this evening, and slumber calls me. It calls me a bogan. What could that even mean, anyway? And what would it mean for the metaphor of reflectors to become commonplace: lights - guides, signposts - that exist only when light is shone onto them? So economical. Brought into existence by the search for meaning, extinguished again as soon as meaning is found. I can't think of anything this is a metaphor for.
And now dear reader we have come full circle, for I've awoken. Now slumber doesn't call me, I call it - I call it over, ceased, finis. Our question for the week: what does slumber call you, and when?
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
quesJane Eyre
what is your idea of perfect happiness?
sitting on an aeroplane for 12 hours
what is your greatest fear?
getting the hiccups and not ever losing them
which living person do you admire the most?
my wife, for finding - and keeping - the catch of the century i.e. me
what is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
my disregard for the downtrodden. screw 'em, and shame on me
what do you consider the most overrated virtue?
modesty? professionalism? loyalty, honesty? there's so many, all of them overrated.
what do you dislike most about your appearance?
my bad angles. no one should ever be allowed to gaze at me from any of my multiple bad angles.
what or who is the greatest love of your life?
easy - my wife. as for the who part, that would have to be my kids
when and where were you happiest?
when i opened the mail one day and found a cheque for $5000 just for getting good marks
which talent would you like to have?
i'd like to be a good lover
what is your current state of mind?
omnipotent
if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
i'd swap my soul for jesus christ's, other than that i'd keep everything else the same
if you could change anything about your family, what would it be?
i wish they had, like, superpowers
what do you consider your greatest achievement?
i have never achieved anything
if you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
planet earth
what do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
self doubt. no, it's not that. self hatred. i'm so stupid!
what is the quality you most like in a man?
he catches the damn ball when i throw it to him
what is the quality you most like in a woman?
being genuine and liking me
what do you value most in your friends?
friends are the handrails of life, something to hold onto for support when you're drunk, sick or old. otherwise you don't need em, but some people try to skateboard down them
who are your favourite writers?
just the classics: peter hartcher, peter fitzsimons, greg sheridan. i'm a real news junkie, it's a debilitating addiction that completely severs my connection to reality, while providing a kind of numbing warmth at the same time
who is your favourite hero of fiction?
gandalf? i dunno, i need to read more fiction. tyrion lannister.
who are your heroes in real life?
the chief executive at my work
what is it that you most dislike?
manly. probably manly.
how would you like to die?
handcuffing myself to you and jumping into a cauldron of molten bronze
what is your motto?
don't look for the use, don't look for the meaning
sitting on an aeroplane for 12 hours
what is your greatest fear?
getting the hiccups and not ever losing them
which living person do you admire the most?
my wife, for finding - and keeping - the catch of the century i.e. me
what is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
my disregard for the downtrodden. screw 'em, and shame on me
what do you consider the most overrated virtue?
modesty? professionalism? loyalty, honesty? there's so many, all of them overrated.
what do you dislike most about your appearance?
my bad angles. no one should ever be allowed to gaze at me from any of my multiple bad angles.
what or who is the greatest love of your life?
easy - my wife. as for the who part, that would have to be my kids
when and where were you happiest?
when i opened the mail one day and found a cheque for $5000 just for getting good marks
which talent would you like to have?
i'd like to be a good lover
what is your current state of mind?
omnipotent
if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
i'd swap my soul for jesus christ's, other than that i'd keep everything else the same
if you could change anything about your family, what would it be?
i wish they had, like, superpowers
what do you consider your greatest achievement?
i have never achieved anything
if you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
planet earth
what do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
self doubt. no, it's not that. self hatred. i'm so stupid!
what is the quality you most like in a man?
he catches the damn ball when i throw it to him
what is the quality you most like in a woman?
being genuine and liking me
what do you value most in your friends?
friends are the handrails of life, something to hold onto for support when you're drunk, sick or old. otherwise you don't need em, but some people try to skateboard down them
who are your favourite writers?
just the classics: peter hartcher, peter fitzsimons, greg sheridan. i'm a real news junkie, it's a debilitating addiction that completely severs my connection to reality, while providing a kind of numbing warmth at the same time
who is your favourite hero of fiction?
gandalf? i dunno, i need to read more fiction. tyrion lannister.
who are your heroes in real life?
the chief executive at my work
what is it that you most dislike?
manly. probably manly.
how would you like to die?
handcuffing myself to you and jumping into a cauldron of molten bronze
what is your motto?
don't look for the use, don't look for the meaning
You are not your thoughts
So say some: you are not your thoughts.
But if not you, then who? I can only speak for many people, and David Leisure is my thoughts.
So said one: you are not your emotions.
I can see the benefits in putting some space between your emotions - positive and negative and just observing them, kindly, with curiosity.
But I don't like the suggestion that there's a separate 'you' above and beyond emotions. Some call this 'you', or rather, 'them', constant and unchanging. I suppose it could conceivably be constant and changing, say if it were changing at a constant rate. It's always better to clarify these things, things like butter.
Life is butter dream.
Just what is the unchanging you? I just don't believe it exists. Nothing is unchanging. But nothing else is.
The you is a strange thing indeed, but it's so tied up with emotions and thoughts and everything else. Isolating and separating it seems to set up a lofty, kind, curious and venerable you, at ease with the torrents of reality below.
That doesn't feel right at all.
And what about cosmic consciousness? It's an old idea, but one of the most important I'm afraid. Terrified in fact.
But I learned recently that it's good to face your fears, except when they're too scary.
If we can just take 24 hours each day to be mindful of every possible thing, we may find our satisfaction with life to be at an all time high, among the many, many, many other things we would find, given how fucking mindful we've been.
Of course, if you lose sleep over any of this, I'd be happy to help you look for it. I can be contacted at all times.
But if not you, then who? I can only speak for many people, and David Leisure is my thoughts.
So said one: you are not your emotions.
I can see the benefits in putting some space between your emotions - positive and negative and just observing them, kindly, with curiosity.
But I don't like the suggestion that there's a separate 'you' above and beyond emotions. Some call this 'you', or rather, 'them', constant and unchanging. I suppose it could conceivably be constant and changing, say if it were changing at a constant rate. It's always better to clarify these things, things like butter.
Life is butter dream.
Just what is the unchanging you? I just don't believe it exists. Nothing is unchanging. But nothing else is.
The you is a strange thing indeed, but it's so tied up with emotions and thoughts and everything else. Isolating and separating it seems to set up a lofty, kind, curious and venerable you, at ease with the torrents of reality below.
That doesn't feel right at all.
And what about cosmic consciousness? It's an old idea, but one of the most important I'm afraid. Terrified in fact.
But I learned recently that it's good to face your fears, except when they're too scary.
If we can just take 24 hours each day to be mindful of every possible thing, we may find our satisfaction with life to be at an all time high, among the many, many, many other things we would find, given how fucking mindful we've been.
Of course, if you lose sleep over any of this, I'd be happy to help you look for it. I can be contacted at all times.
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
Raymond Smullyan and the Giant Mystic Boner
Those who know me well know that Raymond Smullyan gives me a giant mystic boner. Let me explain, lest anyone read this and not understand what I mean.
I love his writings. Not all of them, of course - there isn't a damn writer anywhere all of whose writings are loved by anyone. But some of them induce a certain mood, a certain state in me, that is just plain delightful.
It's unique, it's New York (Catskills), it's Tao.
Now many of you will be familiar with boners, if not through first hand experience then possibly secondhand or by word of mouth. I hold no truck with boners per se here. I am more interested, although that's not the right word, with using the term to express fondness for and a special reaction to something. Others have done a similar kind of thing with eargasm and foodgasm, or lamented that their soul had been kicked in the crotch.
I'm trying to put my finger on the kind of non-literal boner his writings give me. It's partly intellectual, because the mind cannot help but flicker with life upon reading them. But there's something ineffable about them, something beyond intellectual, at their best. They induce a certain stillness of mind, a certain lack of awareness, or direct perception of something, that... well, you see what I mean by ineffable. Anyway, I once would have run a mile in the opposite direction at the first mention of the word mystic. I probably still would in most cases. But not in this one.
I run to it. Well, I don't run. I stroll over, pick it up, try to find where I was up to, curl up on the couch, get interrupted by something and come back to it later.
So someone has been contracted to write a Big Raymond Smullyan Book. This is news to me, and to Google as well. My first thought was I'd like to read it when it comes out. My second thought - although it could have been equal first, really - was that I wouldn't mind contributing to it. Not only wouldn't I mind, I'd quite enjoy it. So here I am, writing something that is not written for the purposes of being included in the BRSB. But I am writing and it is kind of about Raymond Smullyan. If I do right something for submission to the author, it'll have to be a cut above the usual fan fare. In the spirit of the Tao is Silent, it should not be about Raymond Smullyan, but inspired by him. And it will be dedicated to my wife, my children, my family, friends, colleagues and everyone else.
~~~
A Logic Puzzle
In a town there are just two types of people. Those that, when told "doodle oodle oodle whee", reply "doodle oodle oodle whee". I will call these people DOOWers. And those that stop saying "doodle oodle oodle whee". I will call these people DON'Ters. If you need to get directions to the local steakhouse, to whom should you speak and what should you say?
Solution: There is no logical solution to this puzzle.
I love his writings. Not all of them, of course - there isn't a damn writer anywhere all of whose writings are loved by anyone. But some of them induce a certain mood, a certain state in me, that is just plain delightful.
It's unique, it's New York (Catskills), it's Tao.
Now many of you will be familiar with boners, if not through first hand experience then possibly secondhand or by word of mouth. I hold no truck with boners per se here. I am more interested, although that's not the right word, with using the term to express fondness for and a special reaction to something. Others have done a similar kind of thing with eargasm and foodgasm, or lamented that their soul had been kicked in the crotch.
I'm trying to put my finger on the kind of non-literal boner his writings give me. It's partly intellectual, because the mind cannot help but flicker with life upon reading them. But there's something ineffable about them, something beyond intellectual, at their best. They induce a certain stillness of mind, a certain lack of awareness, or direct perception of something, that... well, you see what I mean by ineffable. Anyway, I once would have run a mile in the opposite direction at the first mention of the word mystic. I probably still would in most cases. But not in this one.
I run to it. Well, I don't run. I stroll over, pick it up, try to find where I was up to, curl up on the couch, get interrupted by something and come back to it later.
So someone has been contracted to write a Big Raymond Smullyan Book. This is news to me, and to Google as well. My first thought was I'd like to read it when it comes out. My second thought - although it could have been equal first, really - was that I wouldn't mind contributing to it. Not only wouldn't I mind, I'd quite enjoy it. So here I am, writing something that is not written for the purposes of being included in the BRSB. But I am writing and it is kind of about Raymond Smullyan. If I do right something for submission to the author, it'll have to be a cut above the usual fan fare. In the spirit of the Tao is Silent, it should not be about Raymond Smullyan, but inspired by him. And it will be dedicated to my wife, my children, my family, friends, colleagues and everyone else.
~~~
A Logic Puzzle
In a town there are just two types of people. Those that, when told "doodle oodle oodle whee", reply "doodle oodle oodle whee". I will call these people DOOWers. And those that stop saying "doodle oodle oodle whee". I will call these people DON'Ters. If you need to get directions to the local steakhouse, to whom should you speak and what should you say?
Solution: There is no logical solution to this puzzle.
Monday, September 03, 2012
Australian Story: a program devoid of formulae
Voiceover: Tonight's episode feature's former activist Les Wangela.
Les: I'd had a good life. I'd seen a lot of poverty, a lot of inequality, and I'd *done* something about it. I was a fulltime activist, much more than fulltime actually. We had some big wins in there, for sure. The whales, koalas, pollution credits. Yeah, big big stuff.
Anyway, the board had been badgering me to take a holiday for a few years, so I did - packed my bags and flew to the Hamptons, upstate New York. It was a bit confronting initially, I'll be honest. Such wealth, such privilege. Very white bread, very little ethnic or cultural diversity. I don't think there was a primary school dropout there.
Frank Wooldi: Well when Les returned, you could tell something was different. He had this dull look in his eyes - there was no denying it. He stayed with us for another two months, did some more fine work - set in train things that are still going to this day, in fact - but after that he was gone.
Les: I couldn't, after having seen what I'd seen, go back. Just couldn't. My life as an activist had been so full of challenges, so what was another one? (laughs hysterically)
Voicever: Les enrolled in an MBA at the internationally renowned Chicago School of Economics, and thanks to hard work and, more importantly, making the right connections, ended up with plum jobs at Goldman Sachs and then the US Treasury.
Les: I do look back sometimes, thinking about my old life. But I'm much happier now. I buy over $10,000 worth of skincare products every month. I recreate on private beaches and drink at exclusive clubs. I've just gotten my third trophy wife, and this one is younger, dumber and gives better BJs than the last two.
Cherry: Les is a wonderful husband. He has so much money, and he let's me use quite a bit of it.
Les: I'd had a good life. I'd seen a lot of poverty, a lot of inequality, and I'd *done* something about it. I was a fulltime activist, much more than fulltime actually. We had some big wins in there, for sure. The whales, koalas, pollution credits. Yeah, big big stuff.
Anyway, the board had been badgering me to take a holiday for a few years, so I did - packed my bags and flew to the Hamptons, upstate New York. It was a bit confronting initially, I'll be honest. Such wealth, such privilege. Very white bread, very little ethnic or cultural diversity. I don't think there was a primary school dropout there.
Frank Wooldi: Well when Les returned, you could tell something was different. He had this dull look in his eyes - there was no denying it. He stayed with us for another two months, did some more fine work - set in train things that are still going to this day, in fact - but after that he was gone.
Les: I couldn't, after having seen what I'd seen, go back. Just couldn't. My life as an activist had been so full of challenges, so what was another one? (laughs hysterically)
Voicever: Les enrolled in an MBA at the internationally renowned Chicago School of Economics, and thanks to hard work and, more importantly, making the right connections, ended up with plum jobs at Goldman Sachs and then the US Treasury.
Les: I do look back sometimes, thinking about my old life. But I'm much happier now. I buy over $10,000 worth of skincare products every month. I recreate on private beaches and drink at exclusive clubs. I've just gotten my third trophy wife, and this one is younger, dumber and gives better BJs than the last two.
Cherry: Les is a wonderful husband. He has so much money, and he let's me use quite a bit of it.
Our Resources
Good evening Ladies and Gentleman.
Humans have some *pretty cool* resources. Trees, water, precious minerals, fossil fuels, -
What's that? Who says they belong to humans? It's self evident isn't it? I mean, really, stop being so childish! Who owns them if not us? The dolphins? The chimpanzees? E Coli? (guffaws). Next question - Wait, I mean, let me continue. These resources must be cared for -
What? What's that? Of course humans must care for our resources, what are you, some kind of environment hater? Oh, you're saying we can't care for them? Well that's patently untrue, just look at, um, look at... Well there are many laws and policies in place, we extract a great deal of value... Hmm, yes, I suppose you're right. We don't exactly look after them, do we? But we ought to really, they do so much, and not just for us humans, but for other life forms -
Hmm? You think it's a nonsense that one species can look after every so called resource on the planet? Alright, that's it, I'm going. I'm not used to being undermined like this, and at the very start of my speech too. Piss off, the lot of you.
~~~
Hello there. Here is our new proclamation. What humans proclaim as resources, the rest of the world proclaims as... well, itself. Living things aren't ours. Rocks aren't ours, water isn't ours. We are part of nature, we can never be removed from it.
Humans have some *pretty cool* resources. Trees, water, precious minerals, fossil fuels, -
What's that? Who says they belong to humans? It's self evident isn't it? I mean, really, stop being so childish! Who owns them if not us? The dolphins? The chimpanzees? E Coli? (guffaws). Next question - Wait, I mean, let me continue. These resources must be cared for -
What? What's that? Of course humans must care for our resources, what are you, some kind of environment hater? Oh, you're saying we can't care for them? Well that's patently untrue, just look at, um, look at... Well there are many laws and policies in place, we extract a great deal of value... Hmm, yes, I suppose you're right. We don't exactly look after them, do we? But we ought to really, they do so much, and not just for us humans, but for other life forms -
Hmm? You think it's a nonsense that one species can look after every so called resource on the planet? Alright, that's it, I'm going. I'm not used to being undermined like this, and at the very start of my speech too. Piss off, the lot of you.
~~~
Hello there. Here is our new proclamation. What humans proclaim as resources, the rest of the world proclaims as... well, itself. Living things aren't ours. Rocks aren't ours, water isn't ours. We are part of nature, we can never be removed from it.
The source of 99% of all insight ever: political interviews
Australian troops will be out of Afghanistan by 2014, the Prime Minister today announced.
JG: Take a good, long look at Afghanistan, people. The place is thriving! I mean, it's almost embarrassing for us as Australians - they're breathing down our neck, development wise! But seriously, our troops have sacrificed so much to achieve so little. It's time I pulled them out.
Reporter 1: When did you make this decision, Prime Minister?
JG: While I was taking a shit this morning. I was in considerable pain, and I was immediately reminded of the plight of the Afghan people. Going in for the second wipe, I decided that it was time to bring our troops home.
Reporter 2: With all due respect, Prime Minister, isn't this just cutting and running? The place is in ruins, no one is safe, and our forces are all that stand between women and their certain oppression and defilement by the Taliban.
JG: No, that's not right. Our troops haven't really protected women that much.
Reporter 2: So you're agreeing that you're cutting and running?
JG: Well I suppose you could say we're agreeing to disagree.
Reporter 3: Is this just because we're going to have troops in Iran soon?
JG: Maybe yes, maybe no. That would be telling, wouldn't it!
Reporter 4: The Cats had a surprise loss on the weekend. How are you taking it?
JG: Well as some of you know, I'm a devout follower of Geelong. Two time premiers in the last three years, need I remind you (laughing). Everyone has a surprise loss in them - I suppose you could say Afghanistan was our troops' surprise loss. But they'll bounce back - Geelong, I mean. Our troops, i'm not so sure, i mean how could they lose to those backward twerps? The mind boggles. No more questions.
Reporter 5: Ms Gillard, can you give me directions to that new Turkish place in St Kilda?
JG: I said no more questions!
~~~
Chris Uleman: We have a special treat for our viewers on 7:30 tonight. It's a delicious Magnum almond ice cream. We are now joined by the Treasurer, Wayne Swann. Treasurer, thank you for joining us.
WS: It's a great, great pleasure. I'm practically busting out of my pants here.
CU: Right. If we could get into economic policy, the International Monetary Fund has recently come out and said that the Australian economy will outperform every other comparable economy over the next three years. You must be proud.
WS: Very proud. I'm beaming. I have kids, Chris, and I can emphatically state that the performance of our economy is on a par with any of their achievements, be it in sports, the arts or whatever.
CU: But the IMF also pointed to several structural flaws in the economy that could hinder growth.
WS: Did they? Oh no! What were they?
CU: Please, Treasurer, in all seriousness -
WS: No, I am serious. What were they? I caught the headline about our economy on abc dot net dot au forward slash news. I didn't actually read their report.
CU: Well that's quite an indictment for our national treasurer, wouldn't you say?
WS: Do you realise how much I read every day? Did you read the whole report?
CU: Well -
WS: I thought as much. Probably one of your reporters, some upstart who pines for replacing you one day, picked out a few choice snippets, armed you and here we are.
CU: But I'm not the treasurer, Treasurer.
WS: Why are you repeating yourself? So are you going to tell me what their criticisms were?
CU: What? Ah... Yes, here we are. "Never in the history of an economy has there been a period of more than a few years without any kind of major shock or setback. And let's not forget even during the good periods there are plenty whose lives completely suck"-
WS: Sorry, are you still reading?
CU: Yes, this is all quotes.
WS: Gee. Go on.
CU: "So it is hardly going out on a limb to state that there are some imperfections in the Australian economy which could lead to significant trouble down the track. We hereby nominate, due to their misalignment with some graphs in our economics textbook, the following areas:"-
WS: Hang on. Did you hear that? All they're saying is that we're not perfect. Well duh! What's more, who's to say that the reasons for problems do not lie beyond Australia - or more radically, may I suggest, who's to say that the causes of difficulty and perhaps even collapse are not the same as the causes of prosperity and double digit GDP growth? What if the entire system is flawed, and will pave its own demise, much like some demented roadworker?
CU: That's quite a statement, Treasurer.
WS: Thank you.
CU: Moving on to a different topic, what do you make of the new Ubuntu release?
WS: I can't say I'm much of a computer guru, but I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for open source distributions such as Linux, and to a lesser extent Open Office. Can you play solitaire on them?
CU: I believe so. Treasurer Swann, we're going to have to leave it there.
WS: Must we? Oh well. Bye.
JG: Take a good, long look at Afghanistan, people. The place is thriving! I mean, it's almost embarrassing for us as Australians - they're breathing down our neck, development wise! But seriously, our troops have sacrificed so much to achieve so little. It's time I pulled them out.
Reporter 1: When did you make this decision, Prime Minister?
JG: While I was taking a shit this morning. I was in considerable pain, and I was immediately reminded of the plight of the Afghan people. Going in for the second wipe, I decided that it was time to bring our troops home.
Reporter 2: With all due respect, Prime Minister, isn't this just cutting and running? The place is in ruins, no one is safe, and our forces are all that stand between women and their certain oppression and defilement by the Taliban.
JG: No, that's not right. Our troops haven't really protected women that much.
Reporter 2: So you're agreeing that you're cutting and running?
JG: Well I suppose you could say we're agreeing to disagree.
Reporter 3: Is this just because we're going to have troops in Iran soon?
JG: Maybe yes, maybe no. That would be telling, wouldn't it!
Reporter 4: The Cats had a surprise loss on the weekend. How are you taking it?
JG: Well as some of you know, I'm a devout follower of Geelong. Two time premiers in the last three years, need I remind you (laughing). Everyone has a surprise loss in them - I suppose you could say Afghanistan was our troops' surprise loss. But they'll bounce back - Geelong, I mean. Our troops, i'm not so sure, i mean how could they lose to those backward twerps? The mind boggles. No more questions.
Reporter 5: Ms Gillard, can you give me directions to that new Turkish place in St Kilda?
JG: I said no more questions!
~~~
Chris Uleman: We have a special treat for our viewers on 7:30 tonight. It's a delicious Magnum almond ice cream. We are now joined by the Treasurer, Wayne Swann. Treasurer, thank you for joining us.
WS: It's a great, great pleasure. I'm practically busting out of my pants here.
CU: Right. If we could get into economic policy, the International Monetary Fund has recently come out and said that the Australian economy will outperform every other comparable economy over the next three years. You must be proud.
WS: Very proud. I'm beaming. I have kids, Chris, and I can emphatically state that the performance of our economy is on a par with any of their achievements, be it in sports, the arts or whatever.
CU: But the IMF also pointed to several structural flaws in the economy that could hinder growth.
WS: Did they? Oh no! What were they?
CU: Please, Treasurer, in all seriousness -
WS: No, I am serious. What were they? I caught the headline about our economy on abc dot net dot au forward slash news. I didn't actually read their report.
CU: Well that's quite an indictment for our national treasurer, wouldn't you say?
WS: Do you realise how much I read every day? Did you read the whole report?
CU: Well -
WS: I thought as much. Probably one of your reporters, some upstart who pines for replacing you one day, picked out a few choice snippets, armed you and here we are.
CU: But I'm not the treasurer, Treasurer.
WS: Why are you repeating yourself? So are you going to tell me what their criticisms were?
CU: What? Ah... Yes, here we are. "Never in the history of an economy has there been a period of more than a few years without any kind of major shock or setback. And let's not forget even during the good periods there are plenty whose lives completely suck"-
WS: Sorry, are you still reading?
CU: Yes, this is all quotes.
WS: Gee. Go on.
CU: "So it is hardly going out on a limb to state that there are some imperfections in the Australian economy which could lead to significant trouble down the track. We hereby nominate, due to their misalignment with some graphs in our economics textbook, the following areas:"-
WS: Hang on. Did you hear that? All they're saying is that we're not perfect. Well duh! What's more, who's to say that the reasons for problems do not lie beyond Australia - or more radically, may I suggest, who's to say that the causes of difficulty and perhaps even collapse are not the same as the causes of prosperity and double digit GDP growth? What if the entire system is flawed, and will pave its own demise, much like some demented roadworker?
CU: That's quite a statement, Treasurer.
WS: Thank you.
CU: Moving on to a different topic, what do you make of the new Ubuntu release?
WS: I can't say I'm much of a computer guru, but I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for open source distributions such as Linux, and to a lesser extent Open Office. Can you play solitaire on them?
CU: I believe so. Treasurer Swann, we're going to have to leave it there.
WS: Must we? Oh well. Bye.
Academic battles: resuscitating the bully within
There's something mildly compelling about reading academics duke it out. Each rebuttal more conclusive and devastating than the next. In the event that I ever become engaged in a bookish battle, I've had a practice run below.
~~~
Response to Juang
There is much to commend in Hugh Juang's review of my Day Trading: A Microbiological Perspective. For starters, I can find no typos.
What's more, he conveys his central thesis with brilliant effectiveness. As it turns out, this thesis is that he is a real jerk with no clue about anything.
Juang - if that is his real name - claims that assessing the microbiology of high powered finance workers is of dubious merit. I would simply note that Juang's pulse might also be considered of dubious merit.
It is when Juang moves into more concrete comments that the soft, pink and hairless underbelly of his arguments is exposed. His claim that microfauna are of little consequence to stock price movements would be laughable, were it not so offensive. I simply point to the great cholera outbreak of 1887 and the ensuing dip in stocks of greater than 2.9%.
Juang must stand on surer ground when it comes to issuing proclamations from his professed area of expertise, Fijian marital aids during the Dot Com boom, right? Sadly, this isn't the case. As any professor in venereal disease could have told Juang - had he bothered to check - the 2002 shortage in strap-ons at Frank's Sex Shop near the Singapore Stock Exchange most certainly did have disastrous effects on several large firms - and *beneficial* effects on others. One is left to wonder whether Juang's credentials were acquired after poring through his spam email folder.
I had looked forward to reading a critique of this work that addressed matters of substance in a constructive way. Instead, I at least have a lead for my daughter's daycare centre, who have advertised a vacancy in their 2 year olds and under room.
This comprehensive rebuttal should not be confused for an attack on Juang - I wish him well in whatever pursuits he has the capacity to attempt.
~~~
Response to Juang
There is much to commend in Hugh Juang's review of my Day Trading: A Microbiological Perspective. For starters, I can find no typos.
What's more, he conveys his central thesis with brilliant effectiveness. As it turns out, this thesis is that he is a real jerk with no clue about anything.
Juang - if that is his real name - claims that assessing the microbiology of high powered finance workers is of dubious merit. I would simply note that Juang's pulse might also be considered of dubious merit.
It is when Juang moves into more concrete comments that the soft, pink and hairless underbelly of his arguments is exposed. His claim that microfauna are of little consequence to stock price movements would be laughable, were it not so offensive. I simply point to the great cholera outbreak of 1887 and the ensuing dip in stocks of greater than 2.9%.
Juang must stand on surer ground when it comes to issuing proclamations from his professed area of expertise, Fijian marital aids during the Dot Com boom, right? Sadly, this isn't the case. As any professor in venereal disease could have told Juang - had he bothered to check - the 2002 shortage in strap-ons at Frank's Sex Shop near the Singapore Stock Exchange most certainly did have disastrous effects on several large firms - and *beneficial* effects on others. One is left to wonder whether Juang's credentials were acquired after poring through his spam email folder.
I had looked forward to reading a critique of this work that addressed matters of substance in a constructive way. Instead, I at least have a lead for my daughter's daycare centre, who have advertised a vacancy in their 2 year olds and under room.
This comprehensive rebuttal should not be confused for an attack on Juang - I wish him well in whatever pursuits he has the capacity to attempt.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
A new rap
i'd like to smell your finery
i'm not a fan of joinery
some hogs are mean and ornery
my lyrical refinery
a place where dreams are made and sold
where neural networks turn to gold
where hiphop cheese is born from mould
and truth be told, you've just been rolled
lost your bearings, pockets empty
askin 'where has H-time sent me?'
swapped your volvo for a bentley,
did it gently, can't resent me
sunk my roots into your mind
now you're dreaming, now you're cryin'
can't rewind, no use tryin
relocate to Proserpine
i'm not a fan of joinery
some hogs are mean and ornery
my lyrical refinery
a place where dreams are made and sold
where neural networks turn to gold
where hiphop cheese is born from mould
and truth be told, you've just been rolled
lost your bearings, pockets empty
askin 'where has H-time sent me?'
swapped your volvo for a bentley,
did it gently, can't resent me
sunk my roots into your mind
now you're dreaming, now you're cryin'
can't rewind, no use tryin
relocate to Proserpine
My philosophy
"Turn the other cheek," Jesus was said to have advised his disciples. His 18th and 19th disciples, Louanne and Ralph, misunderstood and went on to found the first ever market in pork bellies in Lower Jerusalem, but to everyone else this stands as a fine example of Christ's philosophy. I would like to tell you my philosophy.
"Wish ill not upon the downtrodden."
This is to a large extent unnecessary, as plenty of happiness can be derived from their current suffering without adding to it.
"A rolling stone is bound to stop eventually."
Even from the top of Mount Everest, a rolled stone will only fall for a minute or two before hitting the ground, a yak or Sherpa Tenzing Norgay's commemorative plaque. And then it stands to gather moss. If you really hate moss that much, you've got no choice but to pick up the stone and keep rolling it every few minutes, which will eventually be bad for your back.
"Treat others as you would like to treat them."
Of course, this may also be quoted in its corollary, "Have others treat you the way you'd like to be treated." I much prefer this to the Golden Rule.
"Laughter is the best medicine, unless a generic painkiller is available."
I have seen no disease or malady which laughter is incapable of curing, including, but not limited to the pox, itchy elbows and Frowner's Disease. Unfortunately it's been excised altogether from cancer wards, as the patients began to associate laughter with vomiting and soon couldn't bear the thought of it.
"Three eyes for three eyes."
In some ways this is the ideal which best sums up my philosophy. I am fiercely dedicated to justice, but because so few people have three eyes, it very rarely requires invoking. And when it does there's usually a 60 Minutes crew on hand to pay for everything.
"Everything to excess, including moderation."
Speaks for itself really.
"To block hats - that is everything."
With thanks to Woody Allen.
"Wish ill not upon the downtrodden."
This is to a large extent unnecessary, as plenty of happiness can be derived from their current suffering without adding to it.
"A rolling stone is bound to stop eventually."
Even from the top of Mount Everest, a rolled stone will only fall for a minute or two before hitting the ground, a yak or Sherpa Tenzing Norgay's commemorative plaque. And then it stands to gather moss. If you really hate moss that much, you've got no choice but to pick up the stone and keep rolling it every few minutes, which will eventually be bad for your back.
"Treat others as you would like to treat them."
Of course, this may also be quoted in its corollary, "Have others treat you the way you'd like to be treated." I much prefer this to the Golden Rule.
"Laughter is the best medicine, unless a generic painkiller is available."
I have seen no disease or malady which laughter is incapable of curing, including, but not limited to the pox, itchy elbows and Frowner's Disease. Unfortunately it's been excised altogether from cancer wards, as the patients began to associate laughter with vomiting and soon couldn't bear the thought of it.
"Three eyes for three eyes."
In some ways this is the ideal which best sums up my philosophy. I am fiercely dedicated to justice, but because so few people have three eyes, it very rarely requires invoking. And when it does there's usually a 60 Minutes crew on hand to pay for everything.
"Everything to excess, including moderation."
Speaks for itself really.
"To block hats - that is everything."
With thanks to Woody Allen.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Made From Off Local Pineapple
A new aggressive hip hop song (*incomplete)
ah yeah (hell yeah)
that's right muthafuckiz
here we go
uncertainty
can you handle it?
uncertainty
can you deal with it?
uncertainty
can you live with it?
uncertainty
you gotta live with it
~~
The One Minute Thousandaire
The for sale book about how to make thousands of dollars!
it goes like this
i'm going to let you in on a secret
there is no secret - that's the secret!
you too can make thousands - over time
here are the ways, and i won't even get into all the amazing things you can do with your thousands
way the first, someone gives it to you. it may be a gift, an inheritance, a prize. you now have at least $1000!
another way, you get a job. if you earn $8 an hour, you only need work 125 hours to earn $1000 gross! some people do that in two weeks!! even allowing for tax, you can earn this much in 4-6 weeks or less. now if you earn $600/hour, you will have $1000 in under two hours, depending
on your tax rate.
the last way is to steal it, you may steal an item you then sell for thousands of dollars, or you may just steal the cash.
think about these simple words for a minute, and when you're enjoying your thousands feel free to pay a small mental tribute, by way of a recommendation of this for sale book to me.
enjoy and go get 'em!
~~
A popular children's rhyme
Little Jinky Marsen
Goes into her school
It's a living nightmare
Her parents send her back
~~
Laughing therapy
A news item about self help groups where people congregate in a park, form a circle and laugh, hysterically where possible. Shot ends with man in group laughing hysterically. Cut to news reader, who chuckles, then to co-anchor, who also chuckles, then to man sitting on couch at home watching news, who chuckles, then to man sitting next to him, bound and gagged, who tries to muster a chuckle, then to police officer hiding behind couch, who chuckles, then stands up and shoots the unbound man, then chuckles, cut to bound man, who again tries to muster a chuckle.
~~
Hi Bertha,
hope the day's been good to you. Perhaps you found five cents in the gutter, received a promotion, or made eye contact with that guy from the office you want to bang.
I am writing about your request for data. I am able to comply with it, in fact this letter is a contribution to the fulfilment of your requirements.
I have attached the data, but would first like to make a few points.
The data is quite sound overall, but there are some quality issues. I might as well come out and say it: trust. I caught some of the data organising events with some of my friends and they never even bothered to invite me. I also loaned one of them a fiver and am yet to see it.
I should explain also a couple of abbreviations: sname stands for station name, but that's pretty obvious. pval stands for p value, whatever that is. something about stats and stuff. also, and i just found this out, but QANTAS stands for Queensland And Northern Territory Air Service.
Finally there are a few conditions attached to the use of it. Any publications arising from its use should acknowledge Werber, Benson et al 2010 (full reference attached). Each time you open it, you are required to raise your hands towards the ceiling, shake them around a bit and say "praise, praise be to Werber, Benson et al!". Also if you delete the data at some point, a few words about Werber, Benson et al would be appreciated. I can send you a sample Vale if you like.
Great to hear from you, and I look forward to spending much more time with my family soon, not that you're really interested in that.
Love,
Werber
ps What's your name again?
~~
Haiku
warrimoo my house
everything is still, quiet
fuckin sweet as
~~
iiri
Now, if I recall incorrectly, the Prime Minister has promised to provide extensive health and life insurance for our nation's numbats, quokkas and bandicoots. I ask you, in this economic climate, can we really justify such outlandish expenditures? And even if we grant the desirability of this measure, how can we possibily implement it? Several leading insurers and reinsurers have privately expressed doubt that the proposal, as it currently stands, is practical. I have also commissioned ABARE research which shows that this measure will yield minimal productivity returns for Australia, and have almost no impact on employment.
ah yeah (hell yeah)
that's right muthafuckiz
here we go
uncertainty
can you handle it?
uncertainty
can you deal with it?
uncertainty
can you live with it?
uncertainty
you gotta live with it
~~
The One Minute Thousandaire
The for sale book about how to make thousands of dollars!
it goes like this
i'm going to let you in on a secret
there is no secret - that's the secret!
you too can make thousands - over time
here are the ways, and i won't even get into all the amazing things you can do with your thousands
way the first, someone gives it to you. it may be a gift, an inheritance, a prize. you now have at least $1000!
another way, you get a job. if you earn $8 an hour, you only need work 125 hours to earn $1000 gross! some people do that in two weeks!! even allowing for tax, you can earn this much in 4-6 weeks or less. now if you earn $600/hour, you will have $1000 in under two hours, depending
on your tax rate.
the last way is to steal it, you may steal an item you then sell for thousands of dollars, or you may just steal the cash.
think about these simple words for a minute, and when you're enjoying your thousands feel free to pay a small mental tribute, by way of a recommendation of this for sale book to me.
enjoy and go get 'em!
~~
A popular children's rhyme
Little Jinky Marsen
Goes into her school
It's a living nightmare
Her parents send her back
~~
Laughing therapy
A news item about self help groups where people congregate in a park, form a circle and laugh, hysterically where possible. Shot ends with man in group laughing hysterically. Cut to news reader, who chuckles, then to co-anchor, who also chuckles, then to man sitting on couch at home watching news, who chuckles, then to man sitting next to him, bound and gagged, who tries to muster a chuckle, then to police officer hiding behind couch, who chuckles, then stands up and shoots the unbound man, then chuckles, cut to bound man, who again tries to muster a chuckle.
~~
Hi Bertha,
hope the day's been good to you. Perhaps you found five cents in the gutter, received a promotion, or made eye contact with that guy from the office you want to bang.
I am writing about your request for data. I am able to comply with it, in fact this letter is a contribution to the fulfilment of your requirements.
I have attached the data, but would first like to make a few points.
The data is quite sound overall, but there are some quality issues. I might as well come out and say it: trust. I caught some of the data organising events with some of my friends and they never even bothered to invite me. I also loaned one of them a fiver and am yet to see it.
I should explain also a couple of abbreviations: sname stands for station name, but that's pretty obvious. pval stands for p value, whatever that is. something about stats and stuff. also, and i just found this out, but QANTAS stands for Queensland And Northern Territory Air Service.
Finally there are a few conditions attached to the use of it. Any publications arising from its use should acknowledge Werber, Benson et al 2010 (full reference attached). Each time you open it, you are required to raise your hands towards the ceiling, shake them around a bit and say "praise, praise be to Werber, Benson et al!". Also if you delete the data at some point, a few words about Werber, Benson et al would be appreciated. I can send you a sample Vale if you like.
Great to hear from you, and I look forward to spending much more time with my family soon, not that you're really interested in that.
Love,
Werber
ps What's your name again?
~~
Haiku
warrimoo my house
everything is still, quiet
fuckin sweet as
~~
iiri
Now, if I recall incorrectly, the Prime Minister has promised to provide extensive health and life insurance for our nation's numbats, quokkas and bandicoots. I ask you, in this economic climate, can we really justify such outlandish expenditures? And even if we grant the desirability of this measure, how can we possibily implement it? Several leading insurers and reinsurers have privately expressed doubt that the proposal, as it currently stands, is practical. I have also commissioned ABARE research which shows that this measure will yield minimal productivity returns for Australia, and have almost no impact on employment.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Missile Magnussen Wows Chinese
Australian swimming sensation James Magnussen has shocked the world by winning a race he was expected by most to win.
"It is a huge thrill and honour to be the first Australian to win this event at the Worlds. I now call upon the administrators to conduct a full and searching probe into Australian swimming."
Magnussen has burst onto the Australian swimming scene of late, having not even been aware of the act of swimming until as little as six months ago.
He initially tried to propel himself forward by drinking water and excreting it, like a rocket, but with proper coaching techniques he soon revamped his form and dedicated himself to freestyle.
At the Australian trials in March, he was refused entry to the pool as nobody recognised him, but he abseiled in through the ceiling and took out gold, earning himself a spot at the world championships. After leaving his swimmers in the changerooms, he returned to the pool but was once again refused entry.
Magnussen won the 100m in a time of 47.61 seconds, a full three minutes ahead of his nearest competitor. Magnussen's main rival, Alfonse Dukakis, was executed after complaining that the Chinese authorities were blocking his access to high quality pornography over the internet.
Other members of the finals field were sluggish, morose and ham-fisted at best, leaving the Aussie in a perfect place to seize the title for himself, Australia and myself.
Still somewhat a novice in the pool, Magnussen kept swimming for an additional 200m before being told the race was over and that he had won. Amazingly, he then broke the world records for the 50m, 100m and 200m events and officials will let them stand.
Magnussen is now poised to make a mint in endorsements, and has already been pencilled in as the next cover girl for Loreal. His management has confirmed that he has also been approached by Weetbix for a position as factory quality control officer.
Next up for Magnussen is the London Olympics in 2012, where he has tentatively agreed to take place in the equestrian as a horse.
"It is a huge thrill and honour to be the first Australian to win this event at the Worlds. I now call upon the administrators to conduct a full and searching probe into Australian swimming."
Magnussen has burst onto the Australian swimming scene of late, having not even been aware of the act of swimming until as little as six months ago.
He initially tried to propel himself forward by drinking water and excreting it, like a rocket, but with proper coaching techniques he soon revamped his form and dedicated himself to freestyle.
At the Australian trials in March, he was refused entry to the pool as nobody recognised him, but he abseiled in through the ceiling and took out gold, earning himself a spot at the world championships. After leaving his swimmers in the changerooms, he returned to the pool but was once again refused entry.
Magnussen won the 100m in a time of 47.61 seconds, a full three minutes ahead of his nearest competitor. Magnussen's main rival, Alfonse Dukakis, was executed after complaining that the Chinese authorities were blocking his access to high quality pornography over the internet.
Other members of the finals field were sluggish, morose and ham-fisted at best, leaving the Aussie in a perfect place to seize the title for himself, Australia and myself.
Still somewhat a novice in the pool, Magnussen kept swimming for an additional 200m before being told the race was over and that he had won. Amazingly, he then broke the world records for the 50m, 100m and 200m events and officials will let them stand.
Magnussen is now poised to make a mint in endorsements, and has already been pencilled in as the next cover girl for Loreal. His management has confirmed that he has also been approached by Weetbix for a position as factory quality control officer.
Next up for Magnussen is the London Olympics in 2012, where he has tentatively agreed to take place in the equestrian as a horse.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
The Sensitive Spreader
Once upon a time, there lived a man. In many ways he was a normal man, living after the fashion of the people of his time. In one important respect he differed. This man had the ability to apply margarine and even butter to the softest and most brittle of bread products, be they toasted or untoasted. He was a Sensitive Spreader.
Nobody knows exactly how this talent developed, although it is likely that, in the manner of all athletic and artistic savants, it came through a combination of hereditary gifts and dutiful, loving application. Almost certainly he did not possess this talent as a child, awkward and still developing as they are, both mentally and physically. Yet we know also that few - indeed up until the Sensitive Spreader, none - of these children go on to acquire the ability to apply spreads in such a sensitive, yielding and successful manner.
The Sensitive Spreader lived for the most part a quiet and regular life, although his talents did not go unnoticed. Some marvelled, others disbelieved until they saw, some were jealous, and others were incomprehensibly indifferent. Within his inner circle, they came to take it for granted much of the time, until perhaps one of them ventured to apply a refrigerated piece of butter to an undertoasted and too thinly sliced sourdough - with awful consequences. These misadventures affected the Sensitive Spreader too, as he felt acutely the pain of a piece of toast run roughshod, ploughed with a butter knife beyond recognition and ridiculously uneven in its coverage. In times like this he would withdraw, sometimes for hours, but only after giving the toast its proper burial rites and offering to right this wrong with a fresh piece.
And so life went on for the Sensitive Spreader, until fate intervened one cool autumnal day.
Nobody knows exactly how this talent developed, although it is likely that, in the manner of all athletic and artistic savants, it came through a combination of hereditary gifts and dutiful, loving application. Almost certainly he did not possess this talent as a child, awkward and still developing as they are, both mentally and physically. Yet we know also that few - indeed up until the Sensitive Spreader, none - of these children go on to acquire the ability to apply spreads in such a sensitive, yielding and successful manner.
The Sensitive Spreader lived for the most part a quiet and regular life, although his talents did not go unnoticed. Some marvelled, others disbelieved until they saw, some were jealous, and others were incomprehensibly indifferent. Within his inner circle, they came to take it for granted much of the time, until perhaps one of them ventured to apply a refrigerated piece of butter to an undertoasted and too thinly sliced sourdough - with awful consequences. These misadventures affected the Sensitive Spreader too, as he felt acutely the pain of a piece of toast run roughshod, ploughed with a butter knife beyond recognition and ridiculously uneven in its coverage. In times like this he would withdraw, sometimes for hours, but only after giving the toast its proper burial rites and offering to right this wrong with a fresh piece.
And so life went on for the Sensitive Spreader, until fate intervened one cool autumnal day.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wobbly earth
He sat on the fractured wall and watched the precursor to pandemonium, the scene that is not, but that when whipped up by time and other things becomes pandemonium.
The raw events - no intepretation, no narrative.
The raw events are replaced, overwhelmed - despite the ceaseless freefall into newness. But not much new, for now, can fight and beat this scene.
Things were vibrating as they always do. Some people walked and some fell. Some things also fell, sometimes on the people.
And the senselessness of it all occurred to him but he also observed that reality may be a mirror. There's sense and plenty of it, all sorts of it. More than enough to go round. Too much even.
But those were thoughts elsewhere and right now he saw the same single moment in its entirety. No time for sadness. Gravity meeting electrostatic repulsion, later to be dressed up.
So he held it all up and inspected it lovingly, turning it around and looking at it from different sides, alternately surprised, heartened, heartbroken, but at all times it gleamed like a diamond.
He put it in his pocket and felt it press against his thigh, and he pulled it out again and tossed it, freely, aside and walked on.
I hope the people in this photo don't mind me putting it here.
The raw events - no intepretation, no narrative.
The raw events are replaced, overwhelmed - despite the ceaseless freefall into newness. But not much new, for now, can fight and beat this scene.
Things were vibrating as they always do. Some people walked and some fell. Some things also fell, sometimes on the people.
And the senselessness of it all occurred to him but he also observed that reality may be a mirror. There's sense and plenty of it, all sorts of it. More than enough to go round. Too much even.
But those were thoughts elsewhere and right now he saw the same single moment in its entirety. No time for sadness. Gravity meeting electrostatic repulsion, later to be dressed up.
So he held it all up and inspected it lovingly, turning it around and looking at it from different sides, alternately surprised, heartened, heartbroken, but at all times it gleamed like a diamond.
He put it in his pocket and felt it press against his thigh, and he pulled it out again and tossed it, freely, aside and walked on.
I hope the people in this photo don't mind me putting it here.
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