This week started out poorly. I decided to floss my teeth and this resulted in a big chip coming off one tooth and another getting lodged in a crevasse. After the initial shock, I was pretty annoyed that my attempt at dental hygiene had been rebuked by my body in such a forceful way. I am learning to live with the strangely lodged chunk of tooth as I am irrationally terrified of dentists ever since one told me that it was inevitable that I would lose all feeling in my lips and possibly most of my jaw if I was to have the operation to "correct" my wisdom teeth. I decided at that point to grow tusks instead and here we have the ongoing consequences of that act of cowardice.
I don't really remember a lot of the rest of the week. I'd like to be able to put this down to outrageous drinking and wild living, but actually it is because it was so mind-numbingly dull and predictable that the highlight was baby-sitting my nieces for a few hours while sister went to class about how to sell beauty products. We watched Kung Fu Panda (again) and I struggled with a crossword. The week ended with two people leaving work who have each (in their very different ways) had a big impact on my working life here. The first is Gill. She is a veteran of the Sheltered Workshop and was the person who hired me into the organisation as a temp and tried to teach me the ways of survival ("Always cover your arse with a paper trail") and the codes of the chronic martyr. Shocked though I am at her resignation, my hope in the resilience of human spirit is renewed. Perhaps she will find her smile again in the near future. Inshalla.
The second is Strelan, the person who first showed me some friendship (or at least companionable emailing from our respective far-flung fortresses of solitude) and has been a reliable source since then of off-hand humour, new musical influences, occasional insight into the worldview and values of Gen Y, and frankly an ambitious but ultimately non-winning poker strategy. I am delighted at the fact that he has gained escape velocity from the draining gravity well of the Sheltered Workshop's weekly pay cheque, and is smiling and bouncing at the idea of working somewhere that he can do stuff. Happy hunting Strelan.
Today was so perfect that I had to dust down the banana lounge and find a pillow and a paper to read then I had all the props in place to do nothing at all. The paper was a week or two old (and was just the News Review and Business sections), but I read it on and off and the birds sang and the sky was blue and the dog snored softly in the grass by my side. A gorgeous way to wrap up the week and I'm so relaxed that I think I'll just hum a little to myself and maybe snooze a little more.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Blood Orange
Isn't that the most Gothic (Gothically? Gothetically?) named fruit?!
Say it aloud in dark tones with me, let the words drip with gore "The...BLOOD...Orange!"
yessssss
I would have thought that with all the vampire chic going around these fruit would be enjoying a heyday, but stuff me if I know where to get them from normal channels. I have recently been given a small bag for free from Ma & Pa's neighbour (yes, Peter, whom I'm sure has been mentioned in the past at least once) and who is my best line on farm-fresh cauliflowers. During summer we are inundated by tomatoes the size of my head (Bullocks Heart the variety is called in case you feel your tommies are inadequately sized. A few people call Custard Apples by this name so double-check. Not that it would be horrible to end up with custard apples, but they're trees, not vines, and are no good for making sandwiches or salads. But I digress) and in winter it is mandarins and oranges.
I've never really gotten too excited, after all mum's been getting gamey, tart little mandies and tight, terse oranges off her trees for a while now and I figured it would be more of the same. No biggie, so normally I let Little Sister totally snaffle all the produce she wants, and it can take me a whole week to eat a single orange or mango due to my love of anticipation and enormous capacity for self-denial. In fact sometimes I have looked forward to it for so long it is no longer edible.
Last weekend, when Little Sister said she was planning a trip to the orchard, I thought I'd tag along. The fruit from the supermarket has been utterly deplorable for the last month and I had never laid eyes on this promised Eden so if nothing else it would make a nice diversion for an hour or so. She always gets this happy glaze to her face when she talks about the place and now I am a convert too.
We stood in the bountiful grove (that required a 4WD to get to) and plucked the most delicious fruits from the trees and ate them with the sun warming us and bees buzzing merrily around the flowers of the next crop. The soil was a rich, soft black and every tree was heavily laden with ripe or ripening fruit. We walked for a while, just to say the names and guess the varieties and we just didn't know them all. It was gorgeous.
Two trees were stripped bare of fruit and we crossed our fingers that the goods were waiting at the farm. Loaded with stuffed bags of fruit, we ventured back towards roads. Little Sister leapt onto the large box of fruit waiting on the front porch of the farm and then let out a long shuddering sigh of pleasure - here they were - the Blood Oranges. Very bravely she watched as we divvied up the total, a few here, a few there, some for so and so, and here Grandad you try a few, and then the rest were tucked safely into the boot of the car.
Have you ever seen them? They look normal enough from the outside, maybe with a faint hint of pink on the skin. I'm told that colour gets stronger with each frost (we've had such a mild winter here, these ones are barely blushing) and then you cut them open, and from the skin and pith in, depending again on the frosts, they're deep rich pink like fresh blood cut with a little water. And they bleed too - so juicy you can't help but want to lick them. The flesh is soft and pulps easily and quickly. These are a little tart from lack of frost, as though there's cranberries snuck into the blend. So very very delicious.
I've counted mine, and am rationing them out, one at a time, as an aperitif to breakfast and dinner. We're all on the lookout for another source now. You don't know anyone with a tree do you? Now I understand why my sister stands over her baby tree and wills it to blossom and grow. Peter could charge whatever he wanted for these and we would be reduced to stealing car stereos to pay him.
Say it aloud in dark tones with me, let the words drip with gore "The...BLOOD...Orange!"
yessssss
I would have thought that with all the vampire chic going around these fruit would be enjoying a heyday, but stuff me if I know where to get them from normal channels. I have recently been given a small bag for free from Ma & Pa's neighbour (yes, Peter, whom I'm sure has been mentioned in the past at least once) and who is my best line on farm-fresh cauliflowers. During summer we are inundated by tomatoes the size of my head (Bullocks Heart the variety is called in case you feel your tommies are inadequately sized. A few people call Custard Apples by this name so double-check. Not that it would be horrible to end up with custard apples, but they're trees, not vines, and are no good for making sandwiches or salads. But I digress) and in winter it is mandarins and oranges.
I've never really gotten too excited, after all mum's been getting gamey, tart little mandies and tight, terse oranges off her trees for a while now and I figured it would be more of the same. No biggie, so normally I let Little Sister totally snaffle all the produce she wants, and it can take me a whole week to eat a single orange or mango due to my love of anticipation and enormous capacity for self-denial. In fact sometimes I have looked forward to it for so long it is no longer edible.
Last weekend, when Little Sister said she was planning a trip to the orchard, I thought I'd tag along. The fruit from the supermarket has been utterly deplorable for the last month and I had never laid eyes on this promised Eden so if nothing else it would make a nice diversion for an hour or so. She always gets this happy glaze to her face when she talks about the place and now I am a convert too.
We stood in the bountiful grove (that required a 4WD to get to) and plucked the most delicious fruits from the trees and ate them with the sun warming us and bees buzzing merrily around the flowers of the next crop. The soil was a rich, soft black and every tree was heavily laden with ripe or ripening fruit. We walked for a while, just to say the names and guess the varieties and we just didn't know them all. It was gorgeous.
Two trees were stripped bare of fruit and we crossed our fingers that the goods were waiting at the farm. Loaded with stuffed bags of fruit, we ventured back towards roads. Little Sister leapt onto the large box of fruit waiting on the front porch of the farm and then let out a long shuddering sigh of pleasure - here they were - the Blood Oranges. Very bravely she watched as we divvied up the total, a few here, a few there, some for so and so, and here Grandad you try a few, and then the rest were tucked safely into the boot of the car.
Have you ever seen them? They look normal enough from the outside, maybe with a faint hint of pink on the skin. I'm told that colour gets stronger with each frost (we've had such a mild winter here, these ones are barely blushing) and then you cut them open, and from the skin and pith in, depending again on the frosts, they're deep rich pink like fresh blood cut with a little water. And they bleed too - so juicy you can't help but want to lick them. The flesh is soft and pulps easily and quickly. These are a little tart from lack of frost, as though there's cranberries snuck into the blend. So very very delicious.
I've counted mine, and am rationing them out, one at a time, as an aperitif to breakfast and dinner. We're all on the lookout for another source now. You don't know anyone with a tree do you? Now I understand why my sister stands over her baby tree and wills it to blossom and grow. Peter could charge whatever he wanted for these and we would be reduced to stealing car stereos to pay him.
Friday, July 10, 2009
He Invented Tomorrow
I am utterly stoked today by Google commemorating on their homepage the birthday of Nikola Tesla! Yay Google! Perhaps this prompted a few dozen people to digress from their purpose in booting the big G long enough to click through to the Wiki page and discover the brilliant and sadly under-rated (and occasionally just totally nutty) works of this amazing engineer and inventor. I hope they're now feeling a richer connection to their computer screen, and considering digressing more often (you know I'm already a fan).
I've been laboriously trudging my way through "A Brief History of Time" (which I know even Hawking says is outdated now) and I can't help but wonder today what Tesla's incredible and intuitive brain might make of our modern world and in particular of the wealth of advances in theoretical and applied physics. How valuable his creativity and inspiration would be to us, when we have more chance of understanding him than those dazed and confused Victorians.
In 1891 Tesla could create illumination without wires, and believed that this was merely the beginning of a field of industry. In Experiments With Alternate Currents Of High Potential And High Frequency in February 1892 he wrote "Ere many generations pass, our machinery will be driven by a power obtainable at any point of the universe".
Not "...at any point of the world", "of the universe" the man had a real scope to his vision that I find inspiring. This was just one of his strands of enquiry. I wish more of his work survived the inevitable fires that came with his experimental conditions and most of all, I wish that he had found a helpmate during his life to take care of the practical things, so his eclectic genius could soar higher and further.
Happy Birthday Nikola Tesla, and thank you for persevering with us as long as you did.
I've been laboriously trudging my way through "A Brief History of Time" (which I know even Hawking says is outdated now) and I can't help but wonder today what Tesla's incredible and intuitive brain might make of our modern world and in particular of the wealth of advances in theoretical and applied physics. How valuable his creativity and inspiration would be to us, when we have more chance of understanding him than those dazed and confused Victorians.
In 1891 Tesla could create illumination without wires, and believed that this was merely the beginning of a field of industry. In Experiments With Alternate Currents Of High Potential And High Frequency in February 1892 he wrote "Ere many generations pass, our machinery will be driven by a power obtainable at any point of the universe".
Not "...at any point of the world", "of the universe" the man had a real scope to his vision that I find inspiring. This was just one of his strands of enquiry. I wish more of his work survived the inevitable fires that came with his experimental conditions and most of all, I wish that he had found a helpmate during his life to take care of the practical things, so his eclectic genius could soar higher and further.
Happy Birthday Nikola Tesla, and thank you for persevering with us as long as you did.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Bronze Nails
I intended to blog tonight, and I even made a bit of an effort to think of decent ideas for once, but obviously this plan has not come to fruition. Please forgive me. I've just spent a cozy two and a half hours snuggled up to my Greader. So many blogs and articles and essays all queued up for me by topic or author. I have barely gotten through half of it. What a pleasure. If only I could read it on the couch.
The major distraction tonight was catching up with new posts from Club Orlov. One of the things I love about this blog is the "been there, done that" nature of the analysis and information. Just because the big big mass of Russia is a long way away (in all the different nuances that hang around after the cold war) doesn't mean we can't learn a lot from their recent history and experiences. It is one thing to look at a bunch of graphs and say, "This is going to be bad" and another to hear exactly how bad (and I don't mean just having to live on cabbage). There are little tidbits too, such as the value of bronze nails.
"It also makes sense to establish stockpiles of non-perishable materials that will preserve their usefulness far into the future. My favourite example is bronze nails. They last a over a hundred years in salt water, and so they are perfect for building boats. The manufacturing of bronze nails is actually a good use of the remaining fossil fuels - better than most. They are compact and easy to store."
I didn't even think about the possibility that nails might be made of stuff that erodes. I mean, that's a stupid idea, right?! What a perfect example of how our thinking as a system is faulty. Not that I'm ever going to be able to build a boat. Or even that I can use a hammer without hurting myself. Who am I kidding anyway, I'm almost certain to die off as soon as the chocolate supply gets dodgy. I've got three lightfittings in my house where I can't even get a lightbulb to work. Plus, I live nearly 150 kloms from the ocean. And I don't eat fish. Now. I reckon if rotten cabbages get on the menu, pretty much anything goes.
But I digress.
It's not just the handy hints towards a happy post-peak-oil-life that I enjoy and it is more than the fabulously footnoted details, it is that Club Orlov presents with a fabulous sense of humour. Anyone who can make me laugh involuntarily about global economic collapse due to the denial of the (easily projected) minimum production volumes and maximum affordable costs of energy has to be clever, resilient and fundamentally very, very funny.
I don't want to spoil it for you in case you have the urge to explore for yourself, and maybe you won't think so, but I'm still chuckling now. Anyway, that's the reason there will not be a blog from me tonight. I've been deliciously distracted and suddenly it is past my bedtime and time to don jammies and sleep. Ah, but my mind is spinning, trying to recalibrate my plan to take in all the knowables, the unknowables, the things we don't know we don't know and now to do all of this and yet remain flexible, with lots more humour!
The major distraction tonight was catching up with new posts from Club Orlov. One of the things I love about this blog is the "been there, done that" nature of the analysis and information. Just because the big big mass of Russia is a long way away (in all the different nuances that hang around after the cold war) doesn't mean we can't learn a lot from their recent history and experiences. It is one thing to look at a bunch of graphs and say, "This is going to be bad" and another to hear exactly how bad (and I don't mean just having to live on cabbage). There are little tidbits too, such as the value of bronze nails.
"It also makes sense to establish stockpiles of non-perishable materials that will preserve their usefulness far into the future. My favourite example is bronze nails. They last a over a hundred years in salt water, and so they are perfect for building boats. The manufacturing of bronze nails is actually a good use of the remaining fossil fuels - better than most. They are compact and easy to store."
I didn't even think about the possibility that nails might be made of stuff that erodes. I mean, that's a stupid idea, right?! What a perfect example of how our thinking as a system is faulty. Not that I'm ever going to be able to build a boat. Or even that I can use a hammer without hurting myself. Who am I kidding anyway, I'm almost certain to die off as soon as the chocolate supply gets dodgy. I've got three lightfittings in my house where I can't even get a lightbulb to work. Plus, I live nearly 150 kloms from the ocean. And I don't eat fish. Now. I reckon if rotten cabbages get on the menu, pretty much anything goes.
But I digress.
It's not just the handy hints towards a happy post-peak-oil-life that I enjoy and it is more than the fabulously footnoted details, it is that Club Orlov presents with a fabulous sense of humour. Anyone who can make me laugh involuntarily about global economic collapse due to the denial of the (easily projected) minimum production volumes and maximum affordable costs of energy has to be clever, resilient and fundamentally very, very funny.
I don't want to spoil it for you in case you have the urge to explore for yourself, and maybe you won't think so, but I'm still chuckling now. Anyway, that's the reason there will not be a blog from me tonight. I've been deliciously distracted and suddenly it is past my bedtime and time to don jammies and sleep. Ah, but my mind is spinning, trying to recalibrate my plan to take in all the knowables, the unknowables, the things we don't know we don't know and now to do all of this and yet remain flexible, with lots more humour!
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
2009 in books (pt1)
As usual I've been both cranky and ill.
Someone (irritating) at work today said,
"...but i've seen you be cheerful and friendly before"
and before I could remember the cover story I replied
"It was a LIE."
So, it's out in the open. On the other hand, once one has cultivated even a minor reputation for eccentricity, nothing after that needs to make too much sense to be shrugged off as "just another thing." So you can tell the radical truth and it becomes outrageous entertainment.
"What do you think of so-and-so?"
"I love him and obsess over him in the long nights of my solitude."
Cue uproarious laughter.
It couldn't be any better if I actually wore a Jester's outfit.
But I digress.
For anyone who hasn't noticed it is pretty much the middle of the year. I considered some kind of sincere post, but I'm not up to it. The only goal-related thing I would say is that I am happy with my reading list so far this year, which has held up rather well despite being flooded this month by a series of works by Stephenie Meyer. The tally stands at 28 books in total and of these, 13 are non-fiction! Nearly exactly half!! WOOT! (gently mimes punching air so as not to dislodge reading glasses.
Of these, what books can I recommend to you my tasteful and clever audience?
A good question.
From January, Six Easy Pieces by Richard P. Feynman. Very thoughtfully re-published by Penguin in their charming $10 range (thank you Penguin and good idea going back to classic jacket designs!). Get into some Physics - it is already in you!!
February yielded some good quality reading in the form of The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton (another Penguin $10 winner). A novel about Tesla called The Invention of Everything Else by Samantha Hunt and a collection of Essays gifted to me by Mez called How to be Alone by Jonathan Franzen. I felt pretty clever by association after those highlights.
March needed a new flavour, so I read the new SF by Richard Morgan - The Black Man and I really liked it but I recommend it to SF readers with some qualifications (depending on your taste). The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman was lovely and had a little unsaid, which I like. The real standout this month was finishing The Invisibles by Grant Morrison which was a loaner from MsJaye and one of those books that infects and gives one a fever. I got through the fever, and now I can't wait to find out what I'm inoculated against or prepared for. Turns out I love anarchistic-chaos-magic. I want to do it again! (BTW for snobs - be warned - that one's a comic.)
April was quiet, I read some non-fic that was a bit dull and I re-read a favourite novel and then read a French SF novel called Babylon Babies (by Mauice Dantec, but I don't remember the translator. It wasn't Nicole Kidman so don't sweat it). I'd read some mixed reviews and of course the film (Babylon AD)was hopeless but actually i thought that the book was good. Not quite as fully anarchist chaos magical as The Invisibles, but possibly a good enough chaser. Lots of good themes and a clever central character and plenty of wild tech. I would like to read more SF from NESB (non english speaking background) as the flavours and textures are less predictable (all of which was pretty much removed for the film. Poor Vin Diesel. I bet he loved the original script.)
So May was not a big reading month, I was pretty sick, but I did finish Kimono: Fashioning Culture by Liza Dalby which I got on a whim and then was able to read nearly half of during a day of travel. It was fascinating, and I feel slightly more informed now when I watch Japanese cinema, or see modern women wearing Kimono. Actually, I'll fess up and say that I went out of my way to re-watch Memoirs of a Geisha just so I could look at all the kimono.
June, ah June. June has been the month of escapist reading. Binging on one-night-reads is something we all do sometimes, but that doesn't make me proud. In the middle of that I finished What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Darwin Knew: From fox-hunting to Whist - the facts of Daily life in 19th-Century England by Daniel Pool which I had been very eagerly awaiting. I was anticipating a detailed and exhaustive book, but actually this book ought to be subtitled "In Which Things that are Almost Obvious from The Context of the Novel are explained in length oftentimes using Quotations from Self-same Novels. Perhaps you ought to read more proper history books?"
Ah well. More than half of this puny book is pointless. I'm trying to think of a redeeming feature .... um .... it has some nice etchings.
I love to keep lists of books, I wish I'd given-in to the urge a long time ago instead of feeling furtive and dirty for wanting to do so. In a lot of ways it is a more interesting way of tracking the tides and flavours of my life than the dates of trips or the odd event. Movies and Knitting have both taken up a lot of time that I would otherwise have spent reading. But that's ok - ther'e more to come in the great Western Genre exploration, and Riley very nearly has his own bespoke cardigan.
Someone (irritating) at work today said,
"...but i've seen you be cheerful and friendly before"
and before I could remember the cover story I replied
"It was a LIE."
So, it's out in the open. On the other hand, once one has cultivated even a minor reputation for eccentricity, nothing after that needs to make too much sense to be shrugged off as "just another thing." So you can tell the radical truth and it becomes outrageous entertainment.
"What do you think of so-and-so?"
"I love him and obsess over him in the long nights of my solitude."
Cue uproarious laughter.
It couldn't be any better if I actually wore a Jester's outfit.
But I digress.
For anyone who hasn't noticed it is pretty much the middle of the year. I considered some kind of sincere post, but I'm not up to it. The only goal-related thing I would say is that I am happy with my reading list so far this year, which has held up rather well despite being flooded this month by a series of works by Stephenie Meyer. The tally stands at 28 books in total and of these, 13 are non-fiction! Nearly exactly half!! WOOT! (gently mimes punching air so as not to dislodge reading glasses.
Of these, what books can I recommend to you my tasteful and clever audience?
A good question.
From January, Six Easy Pieces by Richard P. Feynman. Very thoughtfully re-published by Penguin in their charming $10 range (thank you Penguin and good idea going back to classic jacket designs!). Get into some Physics - it is already in you!!
February yielded some good quality reading in the form of The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton (another Penguin $10 winner). A novel about Tesla called The Invention of Everything Else by Samantha Hunt and a collection of Essays gifted to me by Mez called How to be Alone by Jonathan Franzen. I felt pretty clever by association after those highlights.
March needed a new flavour, so I read the new SF by Richard Morgan - The Black Man and I really liked it but I recommend it to SF readers with some qualifications (depending on your taste). The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman was lovely and had a little unsaid, which I like. The real standout this month was finishing The Invisibles by Grant Morrison which was a loaner from MsJaye and one of those books that infects and gives one a fever. I got through the fever, and now I can't wait to find out what I'm inoculated against or prepared for. Turns out I love anarchistic-chaos-magic. I want to do it again! (BTW for snobs - be warned - that one's a comic.)
April was quiet, I read some non-fic that was a bit dull and I re-read a favourite novel and then read a French SF novel called Babylon Babies (by Mauice Dantec, but I don't remember the translator. It wasn't Nicole Kidman so don't sweat it). I'd read some mixed reviews and of course the film (Babylon AD)was hopeless but actually i thought that the book was good. Not quite as fully anarchist chaos magical as The Invisibles, but possibly a good enough chaser. Lots of good themes and a clever central character and plenty of wild tech. I would like to read more SF from NESB (non english speaking background) as the flavours and textures are less predictable (all of which was pretty much removed for the film. Poor Vin Diesel. I bet he loved the original script.)
So May was not a big reading month, I was pretty sick, but I did finish Kimono: Fashioning Culture by Liza Dalby which I got on a whim and then was able to read nearly half of during a day of travel. It was fascinating, and I feel slightly more informed now when I watch Japanese cinema, or see modern women wearing Kimono. Actually, I'll fess up and say that I went out of my way to re-watch Memoirs of a Geisha just so I could look at all the kimono.
June, ah June. June has been the month of escapist reading. Binging on one-night-reads is something we all do sometimes, but that doesn't make me proud. In the middle of that I finished What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Darwin Knew: From fox-hunting to Whist - the facts of Daily life in 19th-Century England by Daniel Pool which I had been very eagerly awaiting. I was anticipating a detailed and exhaustive book, but actually this book ought to be subtitled "In Which Things that are Almost Obvious from The Context of the Novel are explained in length oftentimes using Quotations from Self-same Novels. Perhaps you ought to read more proper history books?"
Ah well. More than half of this puny book is pointless. I'm trying to think of a redeeming feature .... um .... it has some nice etchings.
I love to keep lists of books, I wish I'd given-in to the urge a long time ago instead of feeling furtive and dirty for wanting to do so. In a lot of ways it is a more interesting way of tracking the tides and flavours of my life than the dates of trips or the odd event. Movies and Knitting have both taken up a lot of time that I would otherwise have spent reading. But that's ok - ther'e more to come in the great Western Genre exploration, and Riley very nearly has his own bespoke cardigan.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Solstice and Spaceship Earth
It is winter solstice again; the long night.
I went to my little sister's place for dinner and to play cards and it was good to see them and catch up on their news. Time is moving faster for them now that she's going to have a baby. There's a very finite and concrete sense of 'time left before the baby comes' and 'everything after'. I can see what shape it is giving to weekends and plans and of course their relationship. All the natural winter urges are heightened for them.
I was thinking earlier today - what is the most beautiful thing that you can think of? Or perhaps it is a place or a person or a sound... feel the joy and the beauty it brings you. How precious and wonderful that is.
Now unless you naturally think of the Eagle Nebula, the Sun's corona or the rings of Saturn, chances are very very good that what you thought of - even your top ten - are all here on earth. Everything is here. So why is it that being a 'greenie' or someone concerned about the well being and survival of the planet is still considered such a social crime? I just don't understand how anyone can be so obstinately ignorant of the peril we're in. It isn't even that "if we break this one we don't have a spare" because we know this one is already broken and the question on every body's heart and mind should really be more like "how much can we mend it if we all pitch in?"
All those extinct species won't come back, but maybe we won't all have to genetically merge with salamanders to survive.
I went to my little sister's place for dinner and to play cards and it was good to see them and catch up on their news. Time is moving faster for them now that she's going to have a baby. There's a very finite and concrete sense of 'time left before the baby comes' and 'everything after'. I can see what shape it is giving to weekends and plans and of course their relationship. All the natural winter urges are heightened for them.
I was thinking earlier today - what is the most beautiful thing that you can think of? Or perhaps it is a place or a person or a sound... feel the joy and the beauty it brings you. How precious and wonderful that is.
Now unless you naturally think of the Eagle Nebula, the Sun's corona or the rings of Saturn, chances are very very good that what you thought of - even your top ten - are all here on earth. Everything is here. So why is it that being a 'greenie' or someone concerned about the well being and survival of the planet is still considered such a social crime? I just don't understand how anyone can be so obstinately ignorant of the peril we're in. It isn't even that "if we break this one we don't have a spare" because we know this one is already broken and the question on every body's heart and mind should really be more like "how much can we mend it if we all pitch in?"
All those extinct species won't come back, but maybe we won't all have to genetically merge with salamanders to survive.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
At Home
I staked up the rogue tomato plants this morning and discovered that they're not just flowering but have set fruit, in June! That was a cute surprise adding to the fact they they're growing over the top of the sweet potatoes. I've got one square meter of garden where every thing's happening. The cauliflowers I tried are all dead and gone. Apart from that one very cold morning last week (about -30 I think it was here, which I thought would kill off the tommies) it is a mild winter so far.
I'm back in touch with the yard because this month I've borrowed a half-remembered part of an English tradition and have decided I am "at home" for my weekends this month. Which means to me that I am by default at home or that I won't be going anywhere simply because of obligation, habit or to fill in time. I've reclaimed the sleep-in! (and the afternoon nap!)
Two weekends in and I'm caught up with myself a little. I have realised how many projects of every kind I've started over the last year or so but left scattered around the house. I'm a full set behind in my subscriptions reading, but that now is back to feeling like a treat in store rather than a task to be completed. I went to two stores today and found it easy to zip in and grab the items on the list and nip back out with just the things I needed and not another armful of stuff. I got some drill bits to put holes in my button blanks and some elastic and batting to make a night-cap (my head is cold when I go to bed. How Dickensian I shall look!).
Yesterday I finished a book (Thursday's Child by Sonya Hartnett. The play is coming to the client's venue in August and as I'll be promoting it heavily, thought is would be good to have a clue what I'm talking about as the material the touring company sent us is heavy on how awesome they are and very light on plot/character details. As usual. It's great too, so I can happily throw my shoulder to the harness for this one.) and then read Twilight (by Stephanie Meyer). I'm possibly in the last 20% of the human population to read this, so I won't say much about it. I think it's more a thriller style than a romance, and that's about as much as I'll venture for now, and yes I'll read the next one.
So with some sleep back behind my eyes and clean sheets on the bed my sense of goodwill-toward-human-kind-O-meter has drifted back into the realm of the positive and I can bid my fellows a good morrow with nary a sneer nor a sardonic riposte in my mind. Hoo-Ray!
Also, Kerryn gifted me owl patterned flannelet jammies! All is right in the world!
I'm back in touch with the yard because this month I've borrowed a half-remembered part of an English tradition and have decided I am "at home" for my weekends this month. Which means to me that I am by default at home or that I won't be going anywhere simply because of obligation, habit or to fill in time. I've reclaimed the sleep-in! (and the afternoon nap!)
Two weekends in and I'm caught up with myself a little. I have realised how many projects of every kind I've started over the last year or so but left scattered around the house. I'm a full set behind in my subscriptions reading, but that now is back to feeling like a treat in store rather than a task to be completed. I went to two stores today and found it easy to zip in and grab the items on the list and nip back out with just the things I needed and not another armful of stuff. I got some drill bits to put holes in my button blanks and some elastic and batting to make a night-cap (my head is cold when I go to bed. How Dickensian I shall look!).
Yesterday I finished a book (Thursday's Child by Sonya Hartnett. The play is coming to the client's venue in August and as I'll be promoting it heavily, thought is would be good to have a clue what I'm talking about as the material the touring company sent us is heavy on how awesome they are and very light on plot/character details. As usual. It's great too, so I can happily throw my shoulder to the harness for this one.) and then read Twilight (by Stephanie Meyer). I'm possibly in the last 20% of the human population to read this, so I won't say much about it. I think it's more a thriller style than a romance, and that's about as much as I'll venture for now, and yes I'll read the next one.
So with some sleep back behind my eyes and clean sheets on the bed my sense of goodwill-toward-human-kind-O-meter has drifted back into the realm of the positive and I can bid my fellows a good morrow with nary a sneer nor a sardonic riposte in my mind. Hoo-Ray!
Also, Kerryn gifted me owl patterned flannelet jammies! All is right in the world!
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Winter Refrain
Overheard in the mall on my way to work (and you'll have to imagine the nasal bogan whine that this is said in):
"Gee it's cold. I can't believe how cold it is!"
So I surreptitiously glance behind me in order to appraise this captain of the obvious and spot a cluster of idiots who are in thongs, shorts and T-shirts and one of them, in concession to the change in seasons, has thrown on a cotton hoodie. They are all hunched over and attempting to gain warmth from lit cigarettes.
It was minus 3oC overnight. Winter, albeit a late (and probably brief one) has arrived. I do not understand the stubborn reticence of locals against putting on warm clothes. This cold weather happens every year. Surely it is not beyond any one's means to have one woolen jumper and a pair of socks bundled into the back of a drawer? That's all it takes, and you can get a decent jumper these days for what it costs to buy two packs of smokes. Then by 9 or 10 in the morning it is back up to a sunny and warm 18oC or so, and then people, you can take the jumper off! A simple, but effective, system that has been serving humans for millenia called "clothing". I recommend it.
Also worth mentioning this week is that the World Health Organisation has officially declared Swine Flu (H1N1) to be a pandemic. Congrats Swiney on your new status. I'm sure no readers of this blog need any delineation made between pandemic and epidemic, but you will appreciate the irony in this being the week that on one hand the Sheltered Workshop has made buckets and buckets of hand sanitiser available to curb to possible spread of Swiney, and on the other (perhaps inevitable and very very bureaucratic) hand, decided that far far too many dollars are spent on tissues and so has cut off their supply. No worries, sneeze into your hand - there's plenty of hand sanitiser!
*shakes head*
"Gee it's cold. I can't believe how cold it is!"
So I surreptitiously glance behind me in order to appraise this captain of the obvious and spot a cluster of idiots who are in thongs, shorts and T-shirts and one of them, in concession to the change in seasons, has thrown on a cotton hoodie. They are all hunched over and attempting to gain warmth from lit cigarettes.
It was minus 3oC overnight. Winter, albeit a late (and probably brief one) has arrived. I do not understand the stubborn reticence of locals against putting on warm clothes. This cold weather happens every year. Surely it is not beyond any one's means to have one woolen jumper and a pair of socks bundled into the back of a drawer? That's all it takes, and you can get a decent jumper these days for what it costs to buy two packs of smokes. Then by 9 or 10 in the morning it is back up to a sunny and warm 18oC or so, and then people, you can take the jumper off! A simple, but effective, system that has been serving humans for millenia called "clothing". I recommend it.
Also worth mentioning this week is that the World Health Organisation has officially declared Swine Flu (H1N1) to be a pandemic. Congrats Swiney on your new status. I'm sure no readers of this blog need any delineation made between pandemic and epidemic, but you will appreciate the irony in this being the week that on one hand the Sheltered Workshop has made buckets and buckets of hand sanitiser available to curb to possible spread of Swiney, and on the other (perhaps inevitable and very very bureaucratic) hand, decided that far far too many dollars are spent on tissues and so has cut off their supply. No worries, sneeze into your hand - there's plenty of hand sanitiser!
*shakes head*
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Terminator: Salvation
(Spoiler Alert! Yes, again. Don't read this if you're seriously looking forward to the latest Terminator film. But really - who is?).
I swear to you, this blog is not going to devolve solely into me bagging the shit out of popular culture. I aim to bag the shit out of high-brow stuff occasionally as well.
Over the long weekend I went along to see Terminator: Salvation at my local cinema. There were many members of the public in attendance which I do not like. It is not (just) that I am anti-social, they are simply not fit to be in the public arena. Case in point: the 'gentleman' seated next to me wore thongs presumably so that when the urge came over him, he could pick his toes during the film without the irritation of having to remove any shoes. Charming.
But I digress.
Firstly, this film is badly misnamed (why do they think that dropping the numbers helps? Oh, that's right, because we're now scraping the prequel barrel and it confuses people to have non-linear sequences. An argument, perhaps, for using the Dewy system for films. But that's a subject for discussion at another time). Anyway. "Salvation" is a misnomer. This film should rightly have been subtitled "Survival" or even something like "have you ever seen a more gritty dystopian future prequel than this?! Holy Shit we're really all going to DIE!!! RUN - RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" but as a marketing person I wouldn't really recommend that - it's hard to make puns with for the actor profiles during promos.
I guess "Survival" was taken, but it is a shame, they should have saved Salvation for when they win the freakin war I would have thought. Not for a film where the resistance takes massive casualties, loses their entire command structure and basically get their arses kicked at every single point.
That leads me to my second point. I don't know a lot about war. Actually, I know very little about war on any level. I've made effort to avoid it personally. From what I have seen and heard it is a deeply unpleasant experience, and something not to be undertaken lightly. Which is why I would have suggested that someone in the Resistance who does know about war ought to read a little book by an old guy call Sun. In this book, which is kind of like a "War for Dummies1" he suggests that you should know everything you can about your enemy. In this film, that could be as simple as remembering that the machines you're fighting are very very smart. Maybe not the ones directly in front of you, but the ones that built them are. I reckon that odds are good that machines that have made themselves self-aware are going to be pretty bright. Hence, one ought to think things through as if you're playing a game of Chess or Go in which your opponent has a higher rank than you. That is to say, they're likely to set traps for you. I would, if I was clever.
Not being clever brings me to my third, and final point. American action films have made a fruitful industry out of not worrying too much about clever if you can be very strong. This almost completely defines the action genre. It is about guys (usually) chasing each other, thumping each other and blowing shit up. This is where T:S comes home and delivers. It's got all the things you look for in an action flick: big guns (tick), attack helicopters (tick), funky secret commando hand signal stuff (tick), blowing shit up (tick, tick, tick), and best of all, big tough guys taking an absolute flogging (sadly I don't mean an actual flogging on a rack. I think the only SF film to deliver that particular delicacy must be Starship Troopers. If you know of any others please, please tell me). In this instance I mean fisty-cuffs to the snoz stuff.
This is what kept me going. I really liked seeing Sam Worthington2 get killed, take a nude mud bath, be beaten, shot at, beaten again, killed again, resurrected, beaten again, and then suicide. Not only is that a thrashing and a half, but it is also one heck of a character arc! And, he just eats it up. I want the next film to be about Marcus Wright stirring things up in the afterlife. OOOHHH - Marcus Wright Vs The Mummy!! I would so totally go and see that. The human equivalent of the bear vs shark question. Brilliant.
But I digress. Again.
On the way home I thought of a great drinking game for this film. It goes like this - first of all you need to get all resistance (shame they skipped the Steampunk possibilities - but one can't have everything) and build (or borrow if you're not well suited to experimental conditions) an alcohol distillation set up ("a still")and make some moonshine (Please remember to cut the juice you get!) then you and your mates all take a swig and settle down to watch this film. Once it starts, every time Marcus Wright does something brutal or has something brutal done to him you have another shot. I leave it up to you to decide if kissing Helena should count. In this way, if you are by some miracle still conscious by the end of the film, you really don't really care that most of the film made no sense and that John Connor is a total arse.
Everybody Wins!3
1. There is both a "Vietnam War for Dummies" and a "War on Terrorism for Dummies" actually published. I thought I was being funny, but it turns out satire is too easily just being inaccurate.
2. Who, BTW, was awesome as Macbeth. Man, I love that version. Even better than Polanski's. Really.
3. Except the humans. And Sam Worthington.
I swear to you, this blog is not going to devolve solely into me bagging the shit out of popular culture. I aim to bag the shit out of high-brow stuff occasionally as well.
Over the long weekend I went along to see Terminator: Salvation at my local cinema. There were many members of the public in attendance which I do not like. It is not (just) that I am anti-social, they are simply not fit to be in the public arena. Case in point: the 'gentleman' seated next to me wore thongs presumably so that when the urge came over him, he could pick his toes during the film without the irritation of having to remove any shoes. Charming.
But I digress.
Firstly, this film is badly misnamed (why do they think that dropping the numbers helps? Oh, that's right, because we're now scraping the prequel barrel and it confuses people to have non-linear sequences. An argument, perhaps, for using the Dewy system for films. But that's a subject for discussion at another time). Anyway. "Salvation" is a misnomer. This film should rightly have been subtitled "Survival" or even something like "have you ever seen a more gritty dystopian future prequel than this?! Holy Shit we're really all going to DIE!!! RUN - RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" but as a marketing person I wouldn't really recommend that - it's hard to make puns with for the actor profiles during promos.
I guess "Survival" was taken, but it is a shame, they should have saved Salvation for when they win the freakin war I would have thought. Not for a film where the resistance takes massive casualties, loses their entire command structure and basically get their arses kicked at every single point.
That leads me to my second point. I don't know a lot about war. Actually, I know very little about war on any level. I've made effort to avoid it personally. From what I have seen and heard it is a deeply unpleasant experience, and something not to be undertaken lightly. Which is why I would have suggested that someone in the Resistance who does know about war ought to read a little book by an old guy call Sun. In this book, which is kind of like a "War for Dummies1" he suggests that you should know everything you can about your enemy. In this film, that could be as simple as remembering that the machines you're fighting are very very smart. Maybe not the ones directly in front of you, but the ones that built them are. I reckon that odds are good that machines that have made themselves self-aware are going to be pretty bright. Hence, one ought to think things through as if you're playing a game of Chess or Go in which your opponent has a higher rank than you. That is to say, they're likely to set traps for you. I would, if I was clever.
Not being clever brings me to my third, and final point. American action films have made a fruitful industry out of not worrying too much about clever if you can be very strong. This almost completely defines the action genre. It is about guys (usually) chasing each other, thumping each other and blowing shit up. This is where T:S comes home and delivers. It's got all the things you look for in an action flick: big guns (tick), attack helicopters (tick), funky secret commando hand signal stuff (tick), blowing shit up (tick, tick, tick), and best of all, big tough guys taking an absolute flogging (sadly I don't mean an actual flogging on a rack. I think the only SF film to deliver that particular delicacy must be Starship Troopers. If you know of any others please, please tell me). In this instance I mean fisty-cuffs to the snoz stuff.
This is what kept me going. I really liked seeing Sam Worthington2 get killed, take a nude mud bath, be beaten, shot at, beaten again, killed again, resurrected, beaten again, and then suicide. Not only is that a thrashing and a half, but it is also one heck of a character arc! And, he just eats it up. I want the next film to be about Marcus Wright stirring things up in the afterlife. OOOHHH - Marcus Wright Vs The Mummy!! I would so totally go and see that. The human equivalent of the bear vs shark question. Brilliant.
But I digress. Again.
On the way home I thought of a great drinking game for this film. It goes like this - first of all you need to get all resistance (shame they skipped the Steampunk possibilities - but one can't have everything) and build (or borrow if you're not well suited to experimental conditions) an alcohol distillation set up ("a still")and make some moonshine (Please remember to cut the juice you get!) then you and your mates all take a swig and settle down to watch this film. Once it starts, every time Marcus Wright does something brutal or has something brutal done to him you have another shot. I leave it up to you to decide if kissing Helena should count. In this way, if you are by some miracle still conscious by the end of the film, you really don't really care that most of the film made no sense and that John Connor is a total arse.
Everybody Wins!3
1. There is both a "Vietnam War for Dummies" and a "War on Terrorism for Dummies" actually published. I thought I was being funny, but it turns out satire is too easily just being inaccurate.
2. Who, BTW, was awesome as Macbeth. Man, I love that version. Even better than Polanski's. Really.
3. Except the humans. And Sam Worthington.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
BSG_S4: WTF?!
(SPOILER ALERT - If you're a Battlestar Galactica Fan and haven't watched all of Season 4, don't read this. Really.)
I can't be the only person who has seen the final episodes of season 4 of BSG and checked under the couch for the missing plot. There's at least two episodes that should exist that seem to have gotten lost as far as I can tell. I went to the pilot of Caprica to see if they're there, but no - just more problems there (if the centurions are created by the combination of a grief-crazed father, a dodgy military contract and a punk genius happy-clapper accidentally dead daughter then how did the Cylons we know as the Final 5 know to spend those thousands of years travelling at sub-light speeds to travel to the 12 colonies and warn of the uprising she would create? See my dilemma? But I digress).
Ok. At least they didn't just fly into the sun (apart from Anders, sorry Anders, someone had to do it, and now that you're a weird-arse brain-in-a-bucket its gunna be you. There's no datastream for you to be zen with on New Earth). I liked the Kara Thrace music psychosis and culmination, I thought that tied a lot of incidental things together very very well. On the other hand, it is always hard to end a long and arduous journey, narratively speaking. We don't like settling for "they rode happily off into the sunset" which is how the wagon-train genre used to settle it. This is one of the difficulties of taking the Western genre into space. It all tracks well until you get to the sunset. Having said that, Serenity had a great sunset ending. Ends got tied, some emotional closure, an uncertain future. All good. So why the frack is the BSG ending so shite?
Firstly, because I think it tries to be cute about tying the story into our Earth (as opposed to Ancient Earth) and that feels kinda patronising. We're SF fans, you don't need to start putting big red YouAreHere arrows around the place (especially at the end. Idiots).
Secondly, because the 7 might have been denied resurrection technology, but the centurions had no mortality issues whatsoever. They're machines who can make more machines, and what happens at the end of the series? The machines who rebelled against the humans and launched the largest genocide program ever then got turned into the followers of the Seven Cylons, fought the big war for 4 years, participated in the civil war, and then... what?! Watched the last of the human-siding cylons ride off into the sunset with the humans leaving them in space with the sad-fuck Cavills and all those other numbers we don't really care about? And what? They made a cup of tea and took up tapestry? I'm not buying it, and I don't think you are either.
Thirdly, the idea that a space going population is going to walk away from their ships carrying *nothing* (look again at those lines of people, they aren't even wearing hats for frack's sake) and survive more than a week against mega-fauna? C'mon. Even I can't suspend that much disbelief.
Fourthly, we spend four years with this community, with the rousing "so say we all!" speeches of the Admiral, and then he goes and build a cairn on a clifftop to die alone with? No. I'm not saying that it might not really happen that way. People might well say "No i'm happy to give up all (ALL) of the comforts, medicines and technologies (including roofs) I've lived my whole life with and go off to compete with Cro Magnons to survive, and if we're all lucky our kids will interbreed with them and the centurions will forget that they hate our guts and that we've given up guns and we'll have a lovely time. But I simply do not believe that they would do that without at least one more speech on the ground from the old man, and a state funeral for you-know-who. (Point was possibly going to be about the raiders and other ships that landed them and the fossil record, but on reflection I think that the psychology is more important).
I'm weighing up how much of my annoyance is purely because the story has finished. I had a childish wish that it just wouldn't end and that these poor people, many of whom I have come to love, respect, and desire would remain trapped in a state of war, or fugitive guerrilla struggles for survival with their numbers slowly decreasing faster than they could ever grow, all just for my entertainment. I can't wish that on anybody. No, it had to end. In endings though, I am more selfish than I like. It doesn't have to be happy, and I'm not such a nihilist that I won't let it be happy. It is just that this ending seems like a nothing ending, and the epilogue feels like I've been watching a "Fall of the Roman Empire" lecture. Just not good enough from the crew who've taught us to expect more.
Grade: FF Fracking Fail - RESUBMIT.
I can't be the only person who has seen the final episodes of season 4 of BSG and checked under the couch for the missing plot. There's at least two episodes that should exist that seem to have gotten lost as far as I can tell. I went to the pilot of Caprica to see if they're there, but no - just more problems there (if the centurions are created by the combination of a grief-crazed father, a dodgy military contract and a punk genius happy-clapper accidentally dead daughter then how did the Cylons we know as the Final 5 know to spend those thousands of years travelling at sub-light speeds to travel to the 12 colonies and warn of the uprising she would create? See my dilemma? But I digress).
Ok. At least they didn't just fly into the sun (apart from Anders, sorry Anders, someone had to do it, and now that you're a weird-arse brain-in-a-bucket its gunna be you. There's no datastream for you to be zen with on New Earth). I liked the Kara Thrace music psychosis and culmination, I thought that tied a lot of incidental things together very very well. On the other hand, it is always hard to end a long and arduous journey, narratively speaking. We don't like settling for "they rode happily off into the sunset" which is how the wagon-train genre used to settle it. This is one of the difficulties of taking the Western genre into space. It all tracks well until you get to the sunset. Having said that, Serenity had a great sunset ending. Ends got tied, some emotional closure, an uncertain future. All good. So why the frack is the BSG ending so shite?
Firstly, because I think it tries to be cute about tying the story into our Earth (as opposed to Ancient Earth) and that feels kinda patronising. We're SF fans, you don't need to start putting big red YouAreHere arrows around the place (especially at the end. Idiots).
Secondly, because the 7 might have been denied resurrection technology, but the centurions had no mortality issues whatsoever. They're machines who can make more machines, and what happens at the end of the series? The machines who rebelled against the humans and launched the largest genocide program ever then got turned into the followers of the Seven Cylons, fought the big war for 4 years, participated in the civil war, and then... what?! Watched the last of the human-siding cylons ride off into the sunset with the humans leaving them in space with the sad-fuck Cavills and all those other numbers we don't really care about? And what? They made a cup of tea and took up tapestry? I'm not buying it, and I don't think you are either.
Thirdly, the idea that a space going population is going to walk away from their ships carrying *nothing* (look again at those lines of people, they aren't even wearing hats for frack's sake) and survive more than a week against mega-fauna? C'mon. Even I can't suspend that much disbelief.
Fourthly, we spend four years with this community, with the rousing "so say we all!" speeches of the Admiral, and then he goes and build a cairn on a clifftop to die alone with? No. I'm not saying that it might not really happen that way. People might well say "No i'm happy to give up all (ALL) of the comforts, medicines and technologies (including roofs) I've lived my whole life with and go off to compete with Cro Magnons to survive, and if we're all lucky our kids will interbreed with them and the centurions will forget that they hate our guts and that we've given up guns and we'll have a lovely time. But I simply do not believe that they would do that without at least one more speech on the ground from the old man, and a state funeral for you-know-who. (Point was possibly going to be about the raiders and other ships that landed them and the fossil record, but on reflection I think that the psychology is more important).
I'm weighing up how much of my annoyance is purely because the story has finished. I had a childish wish that it just wouldn't end and that these poor people, many of whom I have come to love, respect, and desire would remain trapped in a state of war, or fugitive guerrilla struggles for survival with their numbers slowly decreasing faster than they could ever grow, all just for my entertainment. I can't wish that on anybody. No, it had to end. In endings though, I am more selfish than I like. It doesn't have to be happy, and I'm not such a nihilist that I won't let it be happy. It is just that this ending seems like a nothing ending, and the epilogue feels like I've been watching a "Fall of the Roman Empire" lecture. Just not good enough from the crew who've taught us to expect more.
Grade: FF Fracking Fail - RESUBMIT.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Westward Ho!
I never met a Western I didn’t like until I watched this film. Occasionally films have poor production values, or stilted acting, or a plot that just is too implausible, but not usually all at once.
Released in 1935 (originally in B&W) starring a young John Wayne as John Wyatt, this is the story of two brothers and their paths in life after the brutal murder of their parents on the trail (and the theft of all their cattle). The elder brother (Wayne) is left for dead while the youngest is taken as a protégé of the bad guys. As soon as he can swagger and wear a gun, John Wyatt commences his personal vendetta of tracking down and killing the men who murdered his family. The film is dedicated to a group called “The Vigilantes” active in the 1860s, and that’s exactly what happens, Wyatt can’t get funding for an actual police force so he assembles a posse of likewise wronged, angry and gun-wielding men to bring ‘justice’ to the area.
I wanted to start at the beginning of the genre, and here it is. The “good guys” (ie Wyatt’s Vigilantes) all ride white horses (I kid you not!) and most of them sing (yes, this verges on being a musical). The bad guys all have poor personal hygiene and frankly are not that bright. With the focus on vigilante justice and a moral code that makes it ok to shoot some men but not others, I found myself seeing parallels to the Batman origins stories. Batman doesn’t kill, that’s his personal line over which he will not knowingly cross, in Westerns it seems that the willingness to make that decision to shoot to kill and move on with life is what constitutes a man and it is just whether you use your power for good (killing bad men, men in your way, or anyone who cheats at cards) or for stealing cattle.
When watching older films it is useful if one has some personal sense of the period from which they spawn. This is not really a film about the 1860s so much as it is about the 1930s idea of the 1860s and possibly also about something that was topical in the 30s that the director thought might be discussed well by analogy through this story. I have enough understanding of most periods of the 1800s in Europe and North America to be comfortable getting half-way towards the mindset the filmmakers were aiming for. This film made me realise how alienated I am from the 1930s. I don’t really know what was going on, and I certainly don’t understand what was being said in this film implicitly.
The best things for me in this film is that many of the horses are part-Arabs and so are very easy on the eyes, and that it is only 60 minutes long. I had borrowed my Brother-in-Law’s 2 volume set of John Wayne Westerns to watch this film, I skipped the other 11 hours of films. Westward Ho! is sometimes listed in the top Westerns of all time. It might be a great film in the history of the genre, but it didn’t tickle my fancy.
Released in 1935 (originally in B&W) starring a young John Wayne as John Wyatt, this is the story of two brothers and their paths in life after the brutal murder of their parents on the trail (and the theft of all their cattle). The elder brother (Wayne) is left for dead while the youngest is taken as a protégé of the bad guys. As soon as he can swagger and wear a gun, John Wyatt commences his personal vendetta of tracking down and killing the men who murdered his family. The film is dedicated to a group called “The Vigilantes” active in the 1860s, and that’s exactly what happens, Wyatt can’t get funding for an actual police force so he assembles a posse of likewise wronged, angry and gun-wielding men to bring ‘justice’ to the area.
I wanted to start at the beginning of the genre, and here it is. The “good guys” (ie Wyatt’s Vigilantes) all ride white horses (I kid you not!) and most of them sing (yes, this verges on being a musical). The bad guys all have poor personal hygiene and frankly are not that bright. With the focus on vigilante justice and a moral code that makes it ok to shoot some men but not others, I found myself seeing parallels to the Batman origins stories. Batman doesn’t kill, that’s his personal line over which he will not knowingly cross, in Westerns it seems that the willingness to make that decision to shoot to kill and move on with life is what constitutes a man and it is just whether you use your power for good (killing bad men, men in your way, or anyone who cheats at cards) or for stealing cattle.
When watching older films it is useful if one has some personal sense of the period from which they spawn. This is not really a film about the 1860s so much as it is about the 1930s idea of the 1860s and possibly also about something that was topical in the 30s that the director thought might be discussed well by analogy through this story. I have enough understanding of most periods of the 1800s in Europe and North America to be comfortable getting half-way towards the mindset the filmmakers were aiming for. This film made me realise how alienated I am from the 1930s. I don’t really know what was going on, and I certainly don’t understand what was being said in this film implicitly.
The best things for me in this film is that many of the horses are part-Arabs and so are very easy on the eyes, and that it is only 60 minutes long. I had borrowed my Brother-in-Law’s 2 volume set of John Wayne Westerns to watch this film, I skipped the other 11 hours of films. Westward Ho! is sometimes listed in the top Westerns of all time. It might be a great film in the history of the genre, but it didn’t tickle my fancy.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Western
I was lucky enough to be able to indulge recently in a little bit of fairly nerdy, high-def movie marathoning. We watched Serenity for entrees, Blade Runner (Director's cut) for mains, and finished (and I mention here that it is not a decision lightly made finding the right film to follow Blade Runner!) with an encore screening of Tombstone. A most excellent night, and as it was an exclusive viewing club, there was no guilt and much pleasure in talking over boring scenes, rewinding and freeze-framing, reciting dialogue along with the actors, in short all of the things that make re-watching great films fun.
Obviously at some point the subject of The Western as a genre came up. It is kinda easy to see how Firefly (and so Serenity) qualify (plenty of ponies, sidearms and law of the fastest draw), and Tombstone which apart from the Latin-off is nearly a textbook Western ... or is it? In discussion about what great Western films should be watched (we like a list, oh yes, we like a list) Unforgiven came up. And it is an utterly brilliant film in itself, "But" I said in the slightly preachy and pretty annoying way that I have "you simply can not start with it. You have to know about westerns, at least have a feel for them, to really get why Unforgiven is so good." Rather than calling me a wanker, or pish-poshing my elitist stance, my co-nerd simply enquired "What then, do you suggest I watch first?" thus further endearing her to me.
I took a moment to think about it.
I took a deep breath, marshaled my feeble mental resources and began.
I took another moment.
As I thought about it, I realised there was quite a complex history and lineage to a film like Unforgiven (or indeed Firefly on a different branch) and although I'm a fan of the genre as I critically appraised my knowledge in order to provide a reasonable, purposeful and appropriate guide to suitable viewing for a keen neophyte I realised (not for the first time) that I was in over my head.
"I'll have a think about it, and I'll make you a list." Best I could do at the time.
That was over two weeks ago, and I've been thinking it over. I started a list, and it seemed inadequate. Then I started a second of films I've seen but forgotten, then a third of films I'd been recommended, but never got to, and then a fourth of westerns set in space. The myriad shifts and mutations in the genre, the massive and now difficult to grasp homogeneity and popularity of it in its heyday all these things somehow need to be encapsulated and yet there are a huge huge number of westerns, and really I have only seen a very tiny part of their whole. Also, to add a little more piquancy some films set "in the west" are not a Western, likewise a story can be on a moonbase and still be quintessentially a Western (so I think) so why is that? What is at the heart of this genre? What really defines it? Is it independence? Masculinity? Justice?
So I have not made the list, and in another fresh move for me, I am not turning to my reference books (much as I am tempted) but shall instead embark upon a course of viewings. I shall ramble my way through 70 years of Western films in all their guises with no deadline, no schedule, no roster, no real purpose other than for the journey itself and to share the glory and the pleasures of the trip with you, my beloved travelling companions.
Suggestions and recommendations are warmly welcomed. Reviews and notes or mentions of films may or may not appear here in the future after this next week - nothing much is certain in life. In the great tradition of the high-country cowgirls "we will be together on the ride until we aint" (BTW I made that up, that tradition and that little aphorism, but I promise, I'll take the reviews a lot more seriously. Actually, I had my fingers crossed then too. You're on your own. You'll need to cross-reference anything you find here that you want to quote, or believe, or otherwise propogate).
I've decided to start in the 40s and have borrowed 2 volumes (!) of the "John Wayne Collection" from my brother-in-law. I shall view selectively from this vast array lest I sicken and fall early into the undertaking.
Until next we meet, Ye-Har!
Obviously at some point the subject of The Western as a genre came up. It is kinda easy to see how Firefly (and so Serenity) qualify (plenty of ponies, sidearms and law of the fastest draw), and Tombstone which apart from the Latin-off is nearly a textbook Western ... or is it? In discussion about what great Western films should be watched (we like a list, oh yes, we like a list) Unforgiven came up. And it is an utterly brilliant film in itself, "But" I said in the slightly preachy and pretty annoying way that I have "you simply can not start with it. You have to know about westerns, at least have a feel for them, to really get why Unforgiven is so good." Rather than calling me a wanker, or pish-poshing my elitist stance, my co-nerd simply enquired "What then, do you suggest I watch first?" thus further endearing her to me.
I took a moment to think about it.
I took a deep breath, marshaled my feeble mental resources and began.
I took another moment.
As I thought about it, I realised there was quite a complex history and lineage to a film like Unforgiven (or indeed Firefly on a different branch) and although I'm a fan of the genre as I critically appraised my knowledge in order to provide a reasonable, purposeful and appropriate guide to suitable viewing for a keen neophyte I realised (not for the first time) that I was in over my head.
"I'll have a think about it, and I'll make you a list." Best I could do at the time.
That was over two weeks ago, and I've been thinking it over. I started a list, and it seemed inadequate. Then I started a second of films I've seen but forgotten, then a third of films I'd been recommended, but never got to, and then a fourth of westerns set in space. The myriad shifts and mutations in the genre, the massive and now difficult to grasp homogeneity and popularity of it in its heyday all these things somehow need to be encapsulated and yet there are a huge huge number of westerns, and really I have only seen a very tiny part of their whole. Also, to add a little more piquancy some films set "in the west" are not a Western, likewise a story can be on a moonbase and still be quintessentially a Western (so I think) so why is that? What is at the heart of this genre? What really defines it? Is it independence? Masculinity? Justice?
So I have not made the list, and in another fresh move for me, I am not turning to my reference books (much as I am tempted) but shall instead embark upon a course of viewings. I shall ramble my way through 70 years of Western films in all their guises with no deadline, no schedule, no roster, no real purpose other than for the journey itself and to share the glory and the pleasures of the trip with you, my beloved travelling companions.
Suggestions and recommendations are warmly welcomed. Reviews and notes or mentions of films may or may not appear here in the future after this next week - nothing much is certain in life. In the great tradition of the high-country cowgirls "we will be together on the ride until we aint" (BTW I made that up, that tradition and that little aphorism, but I promise, I'll take the reviews a lot more seriously. Actually, I had my fingers crossed then too. You're on your own. You'll need to cross-reference anything you find here that you want to quote, or believe, or otherwise propogate).
I've decided to start in the 40s and have borrowed 2 volumes (!) of the "John Wayne Collection" from my brother-in-law. I shall view selectively from this vast array lest I sicken and fall early into the undertaking.
Until next we meet, Ye-Har!
Friday, May 08, 2009
Push Me, Pull Me
Tonight I had a fresh run-in with the hidden mechanism to social networking - gated communities.
Yes, I know they've been around the whole time. After all, before it was the interwebs it was ARPAnet and if that wasn't the biggest on-line gated community to begin with I'm a chartered accountant. I didn't even have to make that up about ARPAnet. I noes that from reading a book! Thank you Bruce Sterling!! You too can read The Hacker Crackdown if you're old school and don't mind reading things on that scratchy stuff called paper, or, if you prefer, here's the wiki link on it.) (Oh, how droll, i just went to find a link to the book, and actually, it's gone digital. MIT is hosting a copy here. Thank you Bruce Sterling and MIT, you rock.)
But I digress.
I've been getting recommendations for a particular site1 from different persons of varying trust levels (ie knowledgeable strangers in shops and friends), and in the end, I remembered to write it down on something and put it into my weberciser. Well, jolly jumbucks if it isn't by invitation only! It isn't truly closed - I didn't have to get invited by someone I know (like gmail used to be) and I didn't have to provide in 25 words or less why I would like to be included, or justify my inclusion on the grounds of skills and expected contribution. No, I just asked to be invited, and got told that 1500 invitations go out a day, so I'm 3thousand 6hundred something something in the queue, so I'll have to wait about 3 days.
So my point here, and I do have one, is that pull marketing works.
And that humans still like to be a bit exclusive.
Finally, that the idea that the perfect anything/everything is out there somewhere secret and I don't know about it because I am not in the right circles is traumatising - thus identifying me as a vulnerable under-developed idiot ripe for clever marketing (read = "pretty normal").
Can you tell I've been compulsively watching Mad Men2 lately?
Ah, Advertising, my dirty secret.
So I go and look up a bot more about the site and discover it's in Beta (since 2007 - no rush guys!) and has tools based around organising everything for one's hobby. That's what F'book lacks - a hobby connection (apart from tagging in photos). It would be good to cross-sort tools/books across various interests. But now I'm speculating, I still haven't tried to use it.
Something they don't talk up and I will be heartily surprised if it doesn't happen, is targeted advertising inside that room. Once you've asked to enter, you're self-identified as a consumer for linked products and people like me (wearing a work hat for a second) salivate at such a target-rich environment.
We have to make due at work with putting ads in the paper. LEFT.BE-HIND. people, we are being left behind. I cannot tell my eager potential customers about our wonderful range of products - because I have No pull! NO PULL! People are not queued up 3thousand 6hundred something deep to get the latest news about the next tribute show being hosted in Ipswich (it's John Denver in case you're interested, and then Sinatra next month. All happening at the Civic Hall!! peeps). But there has to be an answer to my work problem out there somewhere, somehow...
Which takes me into another tangent. One of the writers for the show (Mad Men) set up a twitter account for the lead character and had the character twittering to fans. Brilliant idea! Other characters got in on the act (hi-larious!) BUT WAIT - the studio that owns the show asked Twitter to shut it down! Oh Dear! You can read about this over here.
So I guess I'm not the only one trying to get more people involved in my product, and engaged in what we offer but then still completely and utterly trying to control how that happens and when. The sheltered workshop has a very strong stance - no interactive stuff! No blogs! No f'books! No relationships. We are push only! PUSH I say! So we push.
We do letter campaigns - no blip in sales. Email campaigns- no blip in sales. Radio - nothing. Yet some shows sell out with barely any work from us. Word of mouth. We have to get the right mouths going. Or book better acts. That the major variable that we don't really like to mention. Paul Kelly played our venue for half the price he played in Brisbane. Any wonder he sold out? Different proposition trying to fill "standing room only" (there's optimism for you) for the Noiseworks re-union tour that no-one was clamouring for.
Life isn't about buying things, it is about being in relationships. That's why we love movies and TV shows - we want to share in those extra relationships. We want to do things and go places with our friends and loved-ones and that's where the pull is, so be pull-able! But being pullable means letting go of the push a bit. We have to loosen up, flow with the breeze, be more like bamboo. Strong yet flexible.
There it is folks. We have to be more like bamboo.
Don Draper would be pleased with that.
There's the concept, work up some art for it.
Have a whiskey everyone.
1. It is www.ravelry.com if you're interested. It's a knitting thing. I really can't tell you anything else until I can have a peek inside.
2. Not just for the eye candy either, although that is a consideration, but for the thoughtful discussion of themes and issues yes, really, I'm watching it for the articles.
Yes, I know they've been around the whole time. After all, before it was the interwebs it was ARPAnet and if that wasn't the biggest on-line gated community to begin with I'm a chartered accountant. I didn't even have to make that up about ARPAnet. I noes that from reading a book! Thank you Bruce Sterling!! You too can read The Hacker Crackdown if you're old school and don't mind reading things on that scratchy stuff called paper, or, if you prefer, here's the wiki link on it.) (Oh, how droll, i just went to find a link to the book, and actually, it's gone digital. MIT is hosting a copy here. Thank you Bruce Sterling and MIT, you rock.)
But I digress.
I've been getting recommendations for a particular site1 from different persons of varying trust levels (ie knowledgeable strangers in shops and friends), and in the end, I remembered to write it down on something and put it into my weberciser. Well, jolly jumbucks if it isn't by invitation only! It isn't truly closed - I didn't have to get invited by someone I know (like gmail used to be) and I didn't have to provide in 25 words or less why I would like to be included, or justify my inclusion on the grounds of skills and expected contribution. No, I just asked to be invited, and got told that 1500 invitations go out a day, so I'm 3thousand 6hundred something something in the queue, so I'll have to wait about 3 days.
So my point here, and I do have one, is that pull marketing works.
And that humans still like to be a bit exclusive.
Finally, that the idea that the perfect anything/everything is out there somewhere secret and I don't know about it because I am not in the right circles is traumatising - thus identifying me as a vulnerable under-developed idiot ripe for clever marketing (read = "pretty normal").
Can you tell I've been compulsively watching Mad Men2 lately?
Ah, Advertising, my dirty secret.
So I go and look up a bot more about the site and discover it's in Beta (since 2007 - no rush guys!) and has tools based around organising everything for one's hobby. That's what F'book lacks - a hobby connection (apart from tagging in photos). It would be good to cross-sort tools/books across various interests. But now I'm speculating, I still haven't tried to use it.
Something they don't talk up and I will be heartily surprised if it doesn't happen, is targeted advertising inside that room. Once you've asked to enter, you're self-identified as a consumer for linked products and people like me (wearing a work hat for a second) salivate at such a target-rich environment.
We have to make due at work with putting ads in the paper. LEFT.BE-HIND. people, we are being left behind. I cannot tell my eager potential customers about our wonderful range of products - because I have No pull! NO PULL! People are not queued up 3thousand 6hundred something deep to get the latest news about the next tribute show being hosted in Ipswich (it's John Denver in case you're interested, and then Sinatra next month. All happening at the Civic Hall!! peeps). But there has to be an answer to my work problem out there somewhere, somehow...
Which takes me into another tangent. One of the writers for the show (Mad Men) set up a twitter account for the lead character and had the character twittering to fans. Brilliant idea! Other characters got in on the act (hi-larious!) BUT WAIT - the studio that owns the show asked Twitter to shut it down! Oh Dear! You can read about this over here.
So I guess I'm not the only one trying to get more people involved in my product, and engaged in what we offer but then still completely and utterly trying to control how that happens and when. The sheltered workshop has a very strong stance - no interactive stuff! No blogs! No f'books! No relationships. We are push only! PUSH I say! So we push.
We do letter campaigns - no blip in sales. Email campaigns- no blip in sales. Radio - nothing. Yet some shows sell out with barely any work from us. Word of mouth. We have to get the right mouths going. Or book better acts. That the major variable that we don't really like to mention. Paul Kelly played our venue for half the price he played in Brisbane. Any wonder he sold out? Different proposition trying to fill "standing room only" (there's optimism for you) for the Noiseworks re-union tour that no-one was clamouring for.
Life isn't about buying things, it is about being in relationships. That's why we love movies and TV shows - we want to share in those extra relationships. We want to do things and go places with our friends and loved-ones and that's where the pull is, so be pull-able! But being pullable means letting go of the push a bit. We have to loosen up, flow with the breeze, be more like bamboo. Strong yet flexible.
There it is folks. We have to be more like bamboo.
Don Draper would be pleased with that.
There's the concept, work up some art for it.
Have a whiskey everyone.
1. It is www.ravelry.com if you're interested. It's a knitting thing. I really can't tell you anything else until I can have a peek inside.
2. Not just for the eye candy either, although that is a consideration, but for the thoughtful discussion of themes and issues yes, really, I'm watching it for the articles.
Correction
On Monday I wrote a little post in which I referred, somewhat vaguely, to a "NZ Author". I intended to go away and figure out the name of the person I was thinking of and put the name in there, but forgot to do so before I hit the big button.
It came to me last night that I was thinking of Janet Frame.
How could I have not been able to remember that? I don't know.
So Janet Frame, please accept my apologies for having a blank on your name although being able to recall your "Rainbirds" book (wish I'd kept that one), and readers, please accept my absentmindedness in this instance and be assured that this is pretty likely to happen again at some point.
It came to me last night that I was thinking of Janet Frame.
How could I have not been able to remember that? I don't know.
So Janet Frame, please accept my apologies for having a blank on your name although being able to recall your "Rainbirds" book (wish I'd kept that one), and readers, please accept my absentmindedness in this instance and be assured that this is pretty likely to happen again at some point.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
A one-third achievement.
I'm delighted to advise that the project to finish reading Ulysses (by James Joyce) in 2009 continues to trundle forward and today I have basically reached the one-third mark. For those of you good at maths, you will immediately suggest that in order to finish on time I ought to have reached this milestone at the beginning of last month, yes, well done, you are correct.
This does not diminish my current (yet ultimately ephemeral) sense of achievement.
Herewith a relatively random sample (not too random, I chose a bit that at least seems like part of a story) to share with you the jaunty tones and fabulous rhythms. I would give you a little context and explain what is going on, but I barely know myself. I'm trusting in the journey.
Enjoy!
"Lenehan linked his arm warmly.
--But wait till I tell you, he said. We had a midnight lunch too after all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was blue o'clock the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winter's night on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan were on one side of the car and I was with the wife on the other. We started singing glees and duets: LO, THE EARLY BEAM OF MORNING. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband. Every jolt the bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. Hell's delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her. Like that.
He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning:
--I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the time. Know what I mean?
His hands moulded ample curves of air. He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips.
--The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. AND WHAT STAR IS THAT, POLDY? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. THAT ONE, IS IT? says Chris Callinan, SURE THAT'S ONLY WHAT YOU MIGHT CALL A PINPRICK. By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark.
Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter."
This does not diminish my current (yet ultimately ephemeral) sense of achievement.
Herewith a relatively random sample (not too random, I chose a bit that at least seems like part of a story) to share with you the jaunty tones and fabulous rhythms. I would give you a little context and explain what is going on, but I barely know myself. I'm trusting in the journey.
Enjoy!
"Lenehan linked his arm warmly.
--But wait till I tell you, he said. We had a midnight lunch too after all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was blue o'clock the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winter's night on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan were on one side of the car and I was with the wife on the other. We started singing glees and duets: LO, THE EARLY BEAM OF MORNING. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband. Every jolt the bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. Hell's delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her. Like that.
He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning:
--I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the time. Know what I mean?
His hands moulded ample curves of air. He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips.
--The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. AND WHAT STAR IS THAT, POLDY? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. THAT ONE, IS IT? says Chris Callinan, SURE THAT'S ONLY WHAT YOU MIGHT CALL A PINPRICK. By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark.
Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter."
"you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior"
Inspired by a tattoo, I discovered this quote:
“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept record of their troubles. You’ll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.“
- Excerpt from Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
... and realise that either I've either never read this book (could this be possible?!) or I need to read it again, urgently.
“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept record of their troubles. You’ll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.“
- Excerpt from Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
... and realise that either I've either never read this book (could this be possible?!) or I need to read it again, urgently.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Not What it Seems
Since the Enlightenment our western culture has revered the advances and solutions that science has delivered. It is one of those fields of human endeavour of which we are very proud.
After all, We fought our way up from thinking that all flesh contains the maggots that may crawl out of it from death and that the entire firmament spins about us, the magical centre of the universe to a much more detailed, specific, understood and known set of laws and reasons and consequences. We can make a machine and send it to another planet via a complex set of other machines and operate it from here for years of reseach and images. We can measure things so small that they become unpredictable in their behaviour and so discover another realm of knowledge enticing us forwards, we can split the centre of an atom and power a city with it. In short, we have become wizards. But just like Bod, we also call up things we cannot control.
We introduce Cane Toads to deal with a moth they don't eat, we have no way of dealing with the waste outcomes of splitting atoms, we can clone sheep, but we aren't really sure why we might do that. So we have Wizard Watchers, people versed in the lore of science, and ready to protect the interests of the greater good of humans. We call them ethicists. We trust that they are at the front lines, balancing our powers with our responsibilities, weighing the possible good with the largely unknown dangers, calling upon the broader communities for discussion, awareness, support and concensus.
Oh wait, I obviously strayed into science fiction there for a moment. When was the last time you heard an appeal from an ethicist for debate? Actually can you name an ethicist? Um .... Peter Singer? Is he? Does he count? I don't know.
What I do know, is that when I read a news article this morning about a court granting permission to a 17 year old to remove his breasts after having been on a gender-reassignment hormone treatment since the age of 13 everything seemed to be in order until I came across this quote from the ethicist (I excerpt here from the article, my emphasis added):
'But ethicist Nick Tonti-Filippini said mainstream medicine did not recognise hormone treatments and surgery as treatment for gender dysphoria. He said it was a psychiatric disorder qualifying under American guidelines as a psychosis because "it's a belief out of accordance with reality".
"What you are trying to do is make a biological reality correspond to that false belief." he said.'
Well that set off my "danger danger" antenna. My understanding is that psychosis is an extreme level of measure, a non-functional state of mental operation. A level, let us remember for a moment, that was applied in the not-too-distant-past to creative types ( NZ author) and women not deemed suitably compliant or docile by their husbands and used as an excuse for labotomies, elcetric shock torture and extreme confinement. But also, and perhaps more importantly, the way this has been formulated as being abberant in relation to an objective "reality".
So apparently, whenever any of us have an idea or a wish to use our will to make reality different, we're possibly just plan psychotic. A line like this is inviting criticism of everything from hair dye, tattoos, and dressing in BSG costume through to going to university and even the entire field of science itself. Where does Mr Tonti-Filippini intend to draw the line?
What a double whammy. I presumed that if ethicists exist, they would be humanists. It seems this has been naive. It seems also, that Mr Tonti-Filippini would find many of my behaviours and desires to defy existing reality as being aberrant enough to justify the label psychotic and so deprive me of my capacity to contribute to the human endeavour of growth and expansion (in ways that do not simply involve the multiplication of our number) and nested inside that issue is his presumption of an objective "reality". In the words of Dylan Moran, "Why does no one say, let's be realistic, oil me ?" Why is reality presumed to be locked in, ordered, un-changeable?
It is easy enough to discover that much as Alex in the court case identifies as "he", our ethicist actually identifies himself as "Dr Tonti-Filippini, Catholic bio-ethicist". Ahh. A little bit more detail gives a lot more context to that right-wing quote. Of all the versions of this news story promulgated across the various news sites of the interwebs, no one bothered to do any more than repeat the copy and the flaws of the first story filed.
Proving in the end that judges in courts can still make thoughtful, humanist decisions, but we only hear about them through the irritating whine of bigots masquerading as informed specialists and the haze of lazy journalism. We, in the form of science have created from our own efforts amazing tools, but we clog their workings ourselves.
I welcome our robot overlords.
After all, We fought our way up from thinking that all flesh contains the maggots that may crawl out of it from death and that the entire firmament spins about us, the magical centre of the universe to a much more detailed, specific, understood and known set of laws and reasons and consequences. We can make a machine and send it to another planet via a complex set of other machines and operate it from here for years of reseach and images. We can measure things so small that they become unpredictable in their behaviour and so discover another realm of knowledge enticing us forwards, we can split the centre of an atom and power a city with it. In short, we have become wizards. But just like Bod, we also call up things we cannot control.
We introduce Cane Toads to deal with a moth they don't eat, we have no way of dealing with the waste outcomes of splitting atoms, we can clone sheep, but we aren't really sure why we might do that. So we have Wizard Watchers, people versed in the lore of science, and ready to protect the interests of the greater good of humans. We call them ethicists. We trust that they are at the front lines, balancing our powers with our responsibilities, weighing the possible good with the largely unknown dangers, calling upon the broader communities for discussion, awareness, support and concensus.
Oh wait, I obviously strayed into science fiction there for a moment. When was the last time you heard an appeal from an ethicist for debate? Actually can you name an ethicist? Um .... Peter Singer? Is he? Does he count? I don't know.
What I do know, is that when I read a news article this morning about a court granting permission to a 17 year old to remove his breasts after having been on a gender-reassignment hormone treatment since the age of 13 everything seemed to be in order until I came across this quote from the ethicist (I excerpt here from the article, my emphasis added):
'But ethicist Nick Tonti-Filippini said mainstream medicine did not recognise hormone treatments and surgery as treatment for gender dysphoria. He said it was a psychiatric disorder qualifying under American guidelines as a psychosis because "it's a belief out of accordance with reality".
"What you are trying to do is make a biological reality correspond to that false belief." he said.'
Well that set off my "danger danger" antenna. My understanding is that psychosis is an extreme level of measure, a non-functional state of mental operation. A level, let us remember for a moment, that was applied in the not-too-distant-past to creative types ( NZ author) and women not deemed suitably compliant or docile by their husbands and used as an excuse for labotomies, elcetric shock torture and extreme confinement. But also, and perhaps more importantly, the way this has been formulated as being abberant in relation to an objective "reality".
So apparently, whenever any of us have an idea or a wish to use our will to make reality different, we're possibly just plan psychotic. A line like this is inviting criticism of everything from hair dye, tattoos, and dressing in BSG costume through to going to university and even the entire field of science itself. Where does Mr Tonti-Filippini intend to draw the line?
What a double whammy. I presumed that if ethicists exist, they would be humanists. It seems this has been naive. It seems also, that Mr Tonti-Filippini would find many of my behaviours and desires to defy existing reality as being aberrant enough to justify the label psychotic and so deprive me of my capacity to contribute to the human endeavour of growth and expansion (in ways that do not simply involve the multiplication of our number) and nested inside that issue is his presumption of an objective "reality". In the words of Dylan Moran, "Why does no one say, let's be realistic, oil me ?" Why is reality presumed to be locked in, ordered, un-changeable?
It is easy enough to discover that much as Alex in the court case identifies as "he", our ethicist actually identifies himself as "Dr Tonti-Filippini, Catholic bio-ethicist". Ahh. A little bit more detail gives a lot more context to that right-wing quote. Of all the versions of this news story promulgated across the various news sites of the interwebs, no one bothered to do any more than repeat the copy and the flaws of the first story filed.
Proving in the end that judges in courts can still make thoughtful, humanist decisions, but we only hear about them through the irritating whine of bigots masquerading as informed specialists and the haze of lazy journalism. We, in the form of science have created from our own efforts amazing tools, but we clog their workings ourselves.
I welcome our robot overlords.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Meeting Mary
Riley and I had some house chores to do today, and when we got to the Vet's place to pick up his special food he decided to wait in the car for this stop. I'm glad he did, because when I walked in after a moment I realised that I had inadvertently arrived at a very difficult time for the older couple in the waiting room.
I went to the display of leashes and tried to be invisible while the man took care of a very hefty bill. The woman on the bench was also trying to be invisible, but after a few seconds she started shaking, and I realised that she was sobbing, and trying not to make any noise. Her face was utterly collapsed in grief, and her hands, her arms, her back were all shuddering. I couldn't stand by and see that pain and do nothing. I could feel my own chest, my own guts cramping in empathy. I had a moment of hesitation about what would be polite, but this was beyond the realms of polite, I could not pretend that this was not happening. So I just sat next to her and put my hand on her back with my nearest arm, and let myself feel with her.
This could have been me last month if things had gone differently with Riley. She could barely breathe. Her husband was handed a dense, heavy black plastic bag, and he could barely see, although he was trying to hold himself together, he couldn't talk. It was the vet who called the woman, "Come on Mary, time to go." and she could not leave that bench. She was trapped in the moment of realisation that nothing they had done this morning could save their beloved, and she would be going home to a funeral, not to a recuperation. I sat with her through that horrible, horrible moment, and I wept too. I wept for her pain, and for their grief and for the loss of that precious life, and for the weary voice of the vet and for the gratitude I have that Riley is still alive.
They left in a slow, agonised stumble.
The assistant apologised to me "that you shouldn't have had to see that", but what had I seen? Nothing bad I thought. I had seen love, love caught in grief, but love nonetheless. I took a tissue from the box on the counter and caught the tears. A deep breath helped me to come back to my self, and the reason I was there - for love alive, waiting in the car and in need of biscuits.
"No problem" I replied, "its all part of the job, isn't it?"
"Yes." She said relieved, for the reality of being a vet's assistant is littered with moments like this but people like to think that it is all birthing kittens and the heroic saving of lives. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do." She said, and it wasn't an excuse, it just was.
Riley was waiting eagerly for me when I returned to the car, and he had been happily oblivious of the black bag carried tenderly past him. I thought of that couple, laying the bag on the back seat of their car, and I hoped that they didn't have far to go before they could be safely off the road.
We backed out of the carpark and re-entered the world, and there they were, still parked on the side, and we caught each other's eyes, Mary and I, and she raised her hand to me, and I to her.
I went to the display of leashes and tried to be invisible while the man took care of a very hefty bill. The woman on the bench was also trying to be invisible, but after a few seconds she started shaking, and I realised that she was sobbing, and trying not to make any noise. Her face was utterly collapsed in grief, and her hands, her arms, her back were all shuddering. I couldn't stand by and see that pain and do nothing. I could feel my own chest, my own guts cramping in empathy. I had a moment of hesitation about what would be polite, but this was beyond the realms of polite, I could not pretend that this was not happening. So I just sat next to her and put my hand on her back with my nearest arm, and let myself feel with her.
This could have been me last month if things had gone differently with Riley. She could barely breathe. Her husband was handed a dense, heavy black plastic bag, and he could barely see, although he was trying to hold himself together, he couldn't talk. It was the vet who called the woman, "Come on Mary, time to go." and she could not leave that bench. She was trapped in the moment of realisation that nothing they had done this morning could save their beloved, and she would be going home to a funeral, not to a recuperation. I sat with her through that horrible, horrible moment, and I wept too. I wept for her pain, and for their grief and for the loss of that precious life, and for the weary voice of the vet and for the gratitude I have that Riley is still alive.
They left in a slow, agonised stumble.
The assistant apologised to me "that you shouldn't have had to see that", but what had I seen? Nothing bad I thought. I had seen love, love caught in grief, but love nonetheless. I took a tissue from the box on the counter and caught the tears. A deep breath helped me to come back to my self, and the reason I was there - for love alive, waiting in the car and in need of biscuits.
"No problem" I replied, "its all part of the job, isn't it?"
"Yes." She said relieved, for the reality of being a vet's assistant is littered with moments like this but people like to think that it is all birthing kittens and the heroic saving of lives. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do." She said, and it wasn't an excuse, it just was.
Riley was waiting eagerly for me when I returned to the car, and he had been happily oblivious of the black bag carried tenderly past him. I thought of that couple, laying the bag on the back seat of their car, and I hoped that they didn't have far to go before they could be safely off the road.
We backed out of the carpark and re-entered the world, and there they were, still parked on the side, and we caught each other's eyes, Mary and I, and she raised her hand to me, and I to her.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Under the One Roof
Indeed a new month has rolled into view and taken up residence on the couch - you know in the one spot that has the best view of the tv and the hallway and the kitchen - the spot the alpha person in the house takes. That's where May is sitting right now. It is just a guest, so I'm letting it go.
There's always been something very comforting about a positive communal living arrangement to me. Possibly due to being raised in rural environments where it is hard to see the roofs of ones neighbours, let alone easily interact with them, and so whoever is under the roof where you are is the sum total of what you've got to deal with. The idea that there might be people of my age or who share my interests under that roof rocked my world when I moved out of home and continues to do so. Sometimes I wonder why I live alone now. But nothing is absolute (except maybe for the rule that nothing is absolute).
Yes yes the internet means we can all be under the one roof, and of course at a very fundamental level we are all part of the great oneness .... but as these things remain somewhat intangible in my moment-to-moment reality. Actually physically seeing people and sharing meals and laughing at spontaneous convergences of personality, circumstance and wit remains a delicious pleasure that simply cannot be replicated in any other medium. And like a child, I still try and glut myself with it, and in doing so trigger the need for withdrawal and reflection to balance it out again and feel whole, both myself, and a social self and only in the gentle repeated mixing of aloneness and togetherness does this blend mature and rise and become some very tasty bready product that I love to be and share and be again.
Ah. I am feeling the concrete of the path and the dirt of possibility and the walls of protection and the sky of opening and the joy of being held and the lure of the quiet room. Perhaps I need another coffee before I deal with May. It got one day in under my guard, but I've got my eye on it now. A bleary, unfocused eye but it is all I have to offer.
There's always been something very comforting about a positive communal living arrangement to me. Possibly due to being raised in rural environments where it is hard to see the roofs of ones neighbours, let alone easily interact with them, and so whoever is under the roof where you are is the sum total of what you've got to deal with. The idea that there might be people of my age or who share my interests under that roof rocked my world when I moved out of home and continues to do so. Sometimes I wonder why I live alone now. But nothing is absolute (except maybe for the rule that nothing is absolute).
Yes yes the internet means we can all be under the one roof, and of course at a very fundamental level we are all part of the great oneness .... but as these things remain somewhat intangible in my moment-to-moment reality. Actually physically seeing people and sharing meals and laughing at spontaneous convergences of personality, circumstance and wit remains a delicious pleasure that simply cannot be replicated in any other medium. And like a child, I still try and glut myself with it, and in doing so trigger the need for withdrawal and reflection to balance it out again and feel whole, both myself, and a social self and only in the gentle repeated mixing of aloneness and togetherness does this blend mature and rise and become some very tasty bready product that I love to be and share and be again.
Ah. I am feeling the concrete of the path and the dirt of possibility and the walls of protection and the sky of opening and the joy of being held and the lure of the quiet room. Perhaps I need another coffee before I deal with May. It got one day in under my guard, but I've got my eye on it now. A bleary, unfocused eye but it is all I have to offer.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Ramble from Singlets to Kashmir
Another "you know you're a Queenslander when" moment over the long weekend - I packed for 2 days/nights away and arrived to discover the following:
* Shirts = 3 x Bonds singlets (albeit different colours)
* Shorts = cut off trackies
* Shoes = thongs only
and although it was rainy when I packed ....
* Sunscreen, hat and sunglasses - but no umbrella.
Hi-Larious.
So here we are in April (bloody-near over actually) and there's nothing to explain the thundering lack of output/blogging/writing/inspired living from me.
I've been thinking a lot, but that doesn't really translate well to paper when I put it like that. The stuff I've been thinking about has lead to the odd catchy little brain-burp, but I'm quite keen at putting something a little more substantive than a burp together. Of course, that leads to the cycle of producing nothing at all. *sigh* But I will prevail! Even if I do so in a singlet top and cut-off tracky daks. You love me for my wit and vim (thankfully. If you love me at all of course) and not for my sartorial tastes which were never strong have waned and died a wilted death here in sub-tropical land.
Today I wrote a post card to Aunt in NZ and talked to a man who is passionate about building a bakery in an African village. I have been curious about this "let's help the Africans" approach to helping people and I feel a bit uncomfortable that we prefer to help those who are far away, and possibly a lot easier to patronise. So I asked Renee, who is both a church person and an African helper, and she said that her church goes to Africa to build orphanages and wells and so on because people to help are easier to find and accept the help. Huh. I hadn't thought of that part. Apparently the food baskets for poor folk were rejected by local persons of need simply because they came from a Church group (she's some kind of Uniting Church type denomination- not a weirdo/full-on-cult. Although I know that for some readers *any* Christian is cult-y enough). So folks, if you're wondering which charity to support here in Australia - go with the Smith Family - we're much more of a secular country than the media and pollies like to admit.
I don't know how I got onto a religious thing... oh yeah, Easter and crucifixion (My 13 year old Niece said "What's crucifixion?" wish I'd been able to get to that age without knowing that!) so Compass had the British theologian Robert Beckford on (in the last of the 2 part doco called "The Hidden Story of Jesus") following many things including the trail of the (heretical!) Gospels of Thomas and the just-so-crazy-it-might-work story (that pisses everybody off) that the big J didn't die on the cross but scarpered to Kashmir where he preached on, married and had a family and eventually was buried. Hi-Larious! I love that. Particularly the tiny little old guy with a bazillion pieces of paper and clues that point to it being true, but neither church wants it to be true, so very inconvenient!
Turns out I really like British theologian Robert Beckford. (Not to be confused with Michael Beckwith. Who, you-know, is also ok, but slightly too Hollywood for my tastes) He's not afraid to keep it all mixed up. More chaos, that's what we need, more chaos in good ways, and the thing with chaos is that it is very likely that you can't tell what's good and what's not for a long time after.
Except for Alan Moore, he's good right now.
* Shirts = 3 x Bonds singlets (albeit different colours)
* Shorts = cut off trackies
* Shoes = thongs only
and although it was rainy when I packed ....
* Sunscreen, hat and sunglasses - but no umbrella.
Hi-Larious.
So here we are in April (bloody-near over actually) and there's nothing to explain the thundering lack of output/blogging/writing/inspired living from me.
I've been thinking a lot, but that doesn't really translate well to paper when I put it like that. The stuff I've been thinking about has lead to the odd catchy little brain-burp, but I'm quite keen at putting something a little more substantive than a burp together. Of course, that leads to the cycle of producing nothing at all. *sigh* But I will prevail! Even if I do so in a singlet top and cut-off tracky daks. You love me for my wit and vim (thankfully. If you love me at all of course) and not for my sartorial tastes which were never strong have waned and died a wilted death here in sub-tropical land.
Today I wrote a post card to Aunt in NZ and talked to a man who is passionate about building a bakery in an African village. I have been curious about this "let's help the Africans" approach to helping people and I feel a bit uncomfortable that we prefer to help those who are far away, and possibly a lot easier to patronise. So I asked Renee, who is both a church person and an African helper, and she said that her church goes to Africa to build orphanages and wells and so on because people to help are easier to find and accept the help. Huh. I hadn't thought of that part. Apparently the food baskets for poor folk were rejected by local persons of need simply because they came from a Church group (she's some kind of Uniting Church type denomination- not a weirdo/full-on-cult. Although I know that for some readers *any* Christian is cult-y enough). So folks, if you're wondering which charity to support here in Australia - go with the Smith Family - we're much more of a secular country than the media and pollies like to admit.
I don't know how I got onto a religious thing... oh yeah, Easter and crucifixion (My 13 year old Niece said "What's crucifixion?" wish I'd been able to get to that age without knowing that!) so Compass had the British theologian Robert Beckford on (in the last of the 2 part doco called "The Hidden Story of Jesus") following many things including the trail of the (heretical!) Gospels of Thomas and the just-so-crazy-it-might-work story (that pisses everybody off) that the big J didn't die on the cross but scarpered to Kashmir where he preached on, married and had a family and eventually was buried. Hi-Larious! I love that. Particularly the tiny little old guy with a bazillion pieces of paper and clues that point to it being true, but neither church wants it to be true, so very inconvenient!
Turns out I really like British theologian Robert Beckford. (Not to be confused with Michael Beckwith. Who, you-know, is also ok, but slightly too Hollywood for my tastes) He's not afraid to keep it all mixed up. More chaos, that's what we need, more chaos in good ways, and the thing with chaos is that it is very likely that you can't tell what's good and what's not for a long time after.
Except for Alan Moore, he's good right now.
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