So!
I've decided to stop using this blog. Not that I use it all that much anyway.
Why, you ask? Because I have fallen in love with the concept of micro-blogging. The problem with regular blogging for me is that I don't like writing big blocks of stuff, by the time I get half way through I've forgotten what I was thinking and it becomes a huge effort to write anything that isn't just a jumbled mess.
So I've switched to Twitter. The idea that limiting yourself to only a few dozen words per blog helps you refine what you want to say is a pretty sound one, (in less than a week I've logged nearly 40 updates.
So if you are the kind of person who every so often checks this blog to see what I'm thinking, I urge you to check my twitterings. AND THEN WE CAN BE FRIENDS.
Sunday 14 December 2008
Thursday 30 October 2008
They say travelling makes you learn things about yourself, and I have learnt that I am not a traveller...
For as long as I can remember I have made the following assumption about myself: that, deep down, I am an interesting person.
Now I've come to realise that that just isn't true.
Whenever you leave where you are used to you are forced to meet new, and unusual, people. I've done that over the past month, and my previous arrogant assumption that I could compare myself to these people has been shattered. These people are people who have opted out of society, people who have said 'fuck that' to everything their culture holds to be conventional. That, evidently, is not me.
Like, I've met people on this trip who have no fixed address, who surrendered that months, or even years ago, in order to just drift around the world, completely devoid of any kind of support, just... them, on their own... against the world.
Fuck sake, that's just not me. I thought, nay, hoped, it may have been - but no. I'm just weak. And like, yeah, I bet people are reading this thinking 'blah blah blah, another self-pitying blog, but I don't even mean this in a self-pitious way, I mean this in a revelatory way. I am revealing to you, my audience, that I, Tom Deery, am weak. I cannot handle things on my own. Like, I thought this month away from everyone and everything I'm familiar with what let me discover an inner strength that I had all along, but what its showed me instead is that I just can't handle any of this; that I need to have people around me, for support and shit. Because otherwise, what? I sit around on my own all day. I make token efforts to socialise but my constant fear that other people despise my company stops that from ever really working, (while normal people experience emotional rewards from relating to people, more often than not it just leaves me feeling miserable). Like, I've spent a depressing amount of time either in front of a computer or over a bottle of booze.
So yeah, that's me. Apparently.
I've decided to cancel all of my other travel plans, fuck all that, I'm never leaving on my own again, I can't handle it. I'm settling down. I'm embracing the dark side, the dark side of proper work and social conformity, because I don't have the courage or the character to be a social opt-out.
Now I've come to realise that that just isn't true.
Whenever you leave where you are used to you are forced to meet new, and unusual, people. I've done that over the past month, and my previous arrogant assumption that I could compare myself to these people has been shattered. These people are people who have opted out of society, people who have said 'fuck that' to everything their culture holds to be conventional. That, evidently, is not me.
Like, I've met people on this trip who have no fixed address, who surrendered that months, or even years ago, in order to just drift around the world, completely devoid of any kind of support, just... them, on their own... against the world.
Fuck sake, that's just not me. I thought, nay, hoped, it may have been - but no. I'm just weak. And like, yeah, I bet people are reading this thinking 'blah blah blah, another self-pitying blog, but I don't even mean this in a self-pitious way, I mean this in a revelatory way. I am revealing to you, my audience, that I, Tom Deery, am weak. I cannot handle things on my own. Like, I thought this month away from everyone and everything I'm familiar with what let me discover an inner strength that I had all along, but what its showed me instead is that I just can't handle any of this; that I need to have people around me, for support and shit. Because otherwise, what? I sit around on my own all day. I make token efforts to socialise but my constant fear that other people despise my company stops that from ever really working, (while normal people experience emotional rewards from relating to people, more often than not it just leaves me feeling miserable). Like, I've spent a depressing amount of time either in front of a computer or over a bottle of booze.
So yeah, that's me. Apparently.
I've decided to cancel all of my other travel plans, fuck all that, I'm never leaving on my own again, I can't handle it. I'm settling down. I'm embracing the dark side, the dark side of proper work and social conformity, because I don't have the courage or the character to be a social opt-out.
Tuesday 21 October 2008
Back on the Mainland
Screw islands. Islands are a bunch of gays. And you can tell Otto von Bismarck I said it!
I got the ferry back to mainland yesterday. Not the same ferry I took from Busan, but a different ferry that went to a place called Mokpo. So now I am in a place called Mokpo. The first thing I realised upon arriving in a place called Mokpo was that I hadn't bothered to find somewhere to stay, so I went to the nearest PC Bang, (that's what they call internet cafes over here), and looked up upon the internets for hostels. Mokpo doesn't have any hostels because it thinks its too cool. So I went one step up and started looking for motels, I found this one motel that was like, 22,000 a night, which isn't good, but it'd do.
So I wrote down the name and address and logged off and then went to find a taxi. I found a taxi and showed him my little piece of paper, "Suite Motel, Jukgyo-dong", and he looked confused for a while and then he was all like, "Ah, Suwiti Motel", and then I was all like, "Uh, ineyo, Suwiteu Motel", and then he was all like, "No no, you Korean very bad, is Suwiti Motel". And I took him at his word, because yes, my Korean is very bad, although usually, the rule is when koreanising a word, the last consonant gets extended with an -eu sound, the word he seemed to be saying was 'Sweetie', which is pretty different from 'Suite'...
Then we got there, and it wasn't the Suite Motel, it was the Sweetie Motel. It was a sex motel. My first hint that this was the case was when I entered reception and found that there was a bookcase full of porn videos in the corner of the room, my second hint was when the receptionist asked me twice whether it was just me staying in the room, my third hint was the general sleazyness of the decor, and my fourth hint was the fact that the light in my room was red. Yeah... Of course by this time it was far too late for me to find somewhere else to stay and the taxi driver had already charged me 4,500 won to get me there, so I had to fork over 30,000 won(!) and stay the night alone in a sex motel. I mean, I guess it was nice and everything, and this morning, before I left, I did basically steal everything from the room that a) wasn't bolted down and b) would fit in my bag, but I'm still pretty annoyed at the taxi driver for being incompetent. I mean, if I had just given him the name of the place I could forgive him confusion, BUT I GAVE HIM THE ADDRESS! What made him think that after giving him the exact address I would instead want to go to somewhere completely different, what made him think that I, a penniless backpacker quite clearly unaccompanied by any kind of lover, would want to go stay at a sex motel? The likeliest outcome is that he didn't understand the address I gave him, and like... I know I've said this in every blog so far, but I really don't understand how this country can even function when NOONE knows where ANYTHING is.
Also its raining. This is the first time its rained since I got here. I can hear the envious groans all the way from here!
I got the ferry back to mainland yesterday. Not the same ferry I took from Busan, but a different ferry that went to a place called Mokpo. So now I am in a place called Mokpo. The first thing I realised upon arriving in a place called Mokpo was that I hadn't bothered to find somewhere to stay, so I went to the nearest PC Bang, (that's what they call internet cafes over here), and looked up upon the internets for hostels. Mokpo doesn't have any hostels because it thinks its too cool. So I went one step up and started looking for motels, I found this one motel that was like, 22,000 a night, which isn't good, but it'd do.
So I wrote down the name and address and logged off and then went to find a taxi. I found a taxi and showed him my little piece of paper, "Suite Motel, Jukgyo-dong", and he looked confused for a while and then he was all like, "Ah, Suwiti Motel", and then I was all like, "Uh, ineyo, Suwiteu Motel", and then he was all like, "No no, you Korean very bad, is Suwiti Motel". And I took him at his word, because yes, my Korean is very bad, although usually, the rule is when koreanising a word, the last consonant gets extended with an -eu sound, the word he seemed to be saying was 'Sweetie', which is pretty different from 'Suite'...
Then we got there, and it wasn't the Suite Motel, it was the Sweetie Motel. It was a sex motel. My first hint that this was the case was when I entered reception and found that there was a bookcase full of porn videos in the corner of the room, my second hint was when the receptionist asked me twice whether it was just me staying in the room, my third hint was the general sleazyness of the decor, and my fourth hint was the fact that the light in my room was red. Yeah... Of course by this time it was far too late for me to find somewhere else to stay and the taxi driver had already charged me 4,500 won to get me there, so I had to fork over 30,000 won(!) and stay the night alone in a sex motel. I mean, I guess it was nice and everything, and this morning, before I left, I did basically steal everything from the room that a) wasn't bolted down and b) would fit in my bag, but I'm still pretty annoyed at the taxi driver for being incompetent. I mean, if I had just given him the name of the place I could forgive him confusion, BUT I GAVE HIM THE ADDRESS! What made him think that after giving him the exact address I would instead want to go to somewhere completely different, what made him think that I, a penniless backpacker quite clearly unaccompanied by any kind of lover, would want to go stay at a sex motel? The likeliest outcome is that he didn't understand the address I gave him, and like... I know I've said this in every blog so far, but I really don't understand how this country can even function when NOONE knows where ANYTHING is.
Also its raining. This is the first time its rained since I got here. I can hear the envious groans all the way from here!
Sunday 19 October 2008
Bad Jeju
Otto von Bismarck once said that no man is an island. This still remains open to debate, but what is clear is that every island is an island.
I am currently on an island, an island called Jeju. Jeju is famous throughout East Asia for its stunning natural beauty, as well as being, according to the tourist information, an island of world peace... The idea that extraordinary claims need extraordinary proof is completely foreign to Korea, and people basically just claim whatever they want about whatever they want. Some may call it lying, I like to call it making claims of world peace.
I got to Jeju by boat. Which is the best way to get to an island, (yeah, fuck you aeroplanes). I won't tell you anything about the boat 'cos I wrote most of my postcards on the boat so you'll get an impression of it anyway. But then I got off the boat and had to do that horrible thing where you arrive in a new place and have to gather your bearings. I picked up a map and sat down to do some bearing-gathering, and as I did loads of taxi-drivers kept pestering me: "Where are you going?", "Seogwipo", "I'll take you there", "Its on the other side of the island, I'm going to take the bus, it'll cost me 3,000 won", "No no, I'll take you, it'll cost you 31,000 won", "Erm, that number is considerably larger than the one I just said", "Well then I'll drive you to the bus station", "Leave me alone", and so on...
So I got the bus to Seogwipo City, and got dropped off somewhere in that vacinity. I didn't really know where I was so I went into a tourist information place to ask. I got out my map and mimed frantically for the woman to point to where we were so I could walk to where I knew I was staying. She didn't speak any English and instead she got out a map of the whole island and started pointing at Seogwipo, and I was all like, "Yeah, I know we're in Seogwipo, but where in Seogwipo?", (I've had many maddening experiences like this in Korea, none of the streets have names so maps are basically useless, and because maps are so useless, hardly any Koreans have any clue how to read maps), at one point she got out a map of the whole of Korea and started pointing at Jeju Island. I was shocked that she thought I had somehow managed to make my way into her office without even realising what island I was on, so I decided to just walk out and figure it out on my own.
Figure it out I did when I got to the hotel I'm staying at. It is, by the way, a hotel. Despite the fact I found it on hostelworld.com, it is actually a hotel, with actual hotel rooms and actual hotel prices. Its 22,000 won a night, which isn't bad for a hotel, but is bad for a hostel. And this place was bad for a hotel. The place was swarming with bugs and the walls were covered in dead insect stains. Like, from people swatting the insects and then nobody bothering to clean it up. I decided to waste some time by using their computers, which were as slow as fuck and, I'm pretty sure, broke my phone. Ever since I lost my phone recharger in Spain I've been using a USB cable to recharge my phone, this has worked fine, if a bit slowly, for a few months, but when I plugged it into these computers, it just drained all the energy from the battery, to the point that now it refuses to recharge at all. Whenever I try to turn it on the little flashing "my battery's dead" light just flickers and the whole thing just stays dead.
A minor inconvenience you may think, afterall, I'm not going to be making any phonecalls. Well, the thing is that I've been using my phone to take pictures. And the other thing is that I'm on Jeju Island, an island that "is famous throughout East Asia for its stunning natural beauty". So this has put me in a bad mood, because after spending tens of thousands of won to get to, and stay on the island, I now have no way of recording my experiences here. Grr.
Maybe I'll try and find a cheap disposable camera. But they'll probably be a bitch to find...
Anyway, home soon! I'm getting pretty excited about getting home. To the point where I'm probably more excited about going home now than I was about going to Korea before I got here. Not to say that I haven't had a good time here, but, in retrospect, a month is a pretty long time to spend solo-travelling.
I am currently on an island, an island called Jeju. Jeju is famous throughout East Asia for its stunning natural beauty, as well as being, according to the tourist information, an island of world peace... The idea that extraordinary claims need extraordinary proof is completely foreign to Korea, and people basically just claim whatever they want about whatever they want. Some may call it lying, I like to call it making claims of world peace.
I got to Jeju by boat. Which is the best way to get to an island, (yeah, fuck you aeroplanes). I won't tell you anything about the boat 'cos I wrote most of my postcards on the boat so you'll get an impression of it anyway. But then I got off the boat and had to do that horrible thing where you arrive in a new place and have to gather your bearings. I picked up a map and sat down to do some bearing-gathering, and as I did loads of taxi-drivers kept pestering me: "Where are you going?", "Seogwipo", "I'll take you there", "Its on the other side of the island, I'm going to take the bus, it'll cost me 3,000 won", "No no, I'll take you, it'll cost you 31,000 won", "Erm, that number is considerably larger than the one I just said", "Well then I'll drive you to the bus station", "Leave me alone", and so on...
So I got the bus to Seogwipo City, and got dropped off somewhere in that vacinity. I didn't really know where I was so I went into a tourist information place to ask. I got out my map and mimed frantically for the woman to point to where we were so I could walk to where I knew I was staying. She didn't speak any English and instead she got out a map of the whole island and started pointing at Seogwipo, and I was all like, "Yeah, I know we're in Seogwipo, but where in Seogwipo?", (I've had many maddening experiences like this in Korea, none of the streets have names so maps are basically useless, and because maps are so useless, hardly any Koreans have any clue how to read maps), at one point she got out a map of the whole of Korea and started pointing at Jeju Island. I was shocked that she thought I had somehow managed to make my way into her office without even realising what island I was on, so I decided to just walk out and figure it out on my own.
Figure it out I did when I got to the hotel I'm staying at. It is, by the way, a hotel. Despite the fact I found it on hostelworld.com, it is actually a hotel, with actual hotel rooms and actual hotel prices. Its 22,000 won a night, which isn't bad for a hotel, but is bad for a hostel. And this place was bad for a hotel. The place was swarming with bugs and the walls were covered in dead insect stains. Like, from people swatting the insects and then nobody bothering to clean it up. I decided to waste some time by using their computers, which were as slow as fuck and, I'm pretty sure, broke my phone. Ever since I lost my phone recharger in Spain I've been using a USB cable to recharge my phone, this has worked fine, if a bit slowly, for a few months, but when I plugged it into these computers, it just drained all the energy from the battery, to the point that now it refuses to recharge at all. Whenever I try to turn it on the little flashing "my battery's dead" light just flickers and the whole thing just stays dead.
A minor inconvenience you may think, afterall, I'm not going to be making any phonecalls. Well, the thing is that I've been using my phone to take pictures. And the other thing is that I'm on Jeju Island, an island that "is famous throughout East Asia for its stunning natural beauty". So this has put me in a bad mood, because after spending tens of thousands of won to get to, and stay on the island, I now have no way of recording my experiences here. Grr.
Maybe I'll try and find a cheap disposable camera. But they'll probably be a bitch to find...
Anyway, home soon! I'm getting pretty excited about getting home. To the point where I'm probably more excited about going home now than I was about going to Korea before I got here. Not to say that I haven't had a good time here, but, in retrospect, a month is a pretty long time to spend solo-travelling.
Tuesday 7 October 2008
Five
Man. I was feeling miserable last night.
I didn't go out yesterday, which was probably a mistake. I was thinking of going to the Natural History Museum, and maybe sneaking a peak at the river, but then decided that it would be better if I stayed at the hostel all day. 'I'll go out in the evening,' thought I, 'I'll pop into the living room and ask if anyone wants to head over to Hongdae for the night'.
Then the evening came and I was miserable. I didn't want to do anything. I was lying on the downstairs sofa watching 'True Lies', which is a stupid film. And then I was in bed by 8.30.
Why did I come here on my own? Surely I knew this was going to happen. I am aware of my own strengths and weaknesses, my strengths include being able to scratch the entirety of my back and knowing all the original pokemon, and my weaknesses include finding it almost impossible to socialise with people I don't know. Like, last night, the rest of the hostel was in the living room, listening to musics, drinking soju and generally having a good time; they didn't all know each other but they were managing okay. What did I do? I slammed myself into the dorm room and tried to sleep.
UGH.
I didn't go out yesterday, which was probably a mistake. I was thinking of going to the Natural History Museum, and maybe sneaking a peak at the river, but then decided that it would be better if I stayed at the hostel all day. 'I'll go out in the evening,' thought I, 'I'll pop into the living room and ask if anyone wants to head over to Hongdae for the night'.
Then the evening came and I was miserable. I didn't want to do anything. I was lying on the downstairs sofa watching 'True Lies', which is a stupid film. And then I was in bed by 8.30.
Why did I come here on my own? Surely I knew this was going to happen. I am aware of my own strengths and weaknesses, my strengths include being able to scratch the entirety of my back and knowing all the original pokemon, and my weaknesses include finding it almost impossible to socialise with people I don't know. Like, last night, the rest of the hostel was in the living room, listening to musics, drinking soju and generally having a good time; they didn't all know each other but they were managing okay. What did I do? I slammed myself into the dorm room and tried to sleep.
UGH.
Sunday 5 October 2008
Travelog the fourth, I guess?
Yeah okay, so here I am, blogging up a blog. I said I probably wouldn't but then I got bored, and with only 700won to my name, (my cashcard isn't accepted here and I can't cash my travellers cheques till monday... sigh, banks!? Is there anything they can do right?), I haven't really had much option to go and do anything.
So I shall provide you with some commentary. I've been in Seoul for four days now, (wow... that's flown by...), and all in all, I'm enjoying myself. My first thoughts of the city were negative, as I travelled along in the airport bus from Incheon (the main airport, built on a island several miles away from Seoul in the Hangang delta) I despaired at the state of the city. The whole place seemed too modern, a swarm of characterless skyscrapers arranged around a grid of wide boulevards, (there is a road in central Seoul that is fourteen lanes wide... FOURTEEN LANES WIDE! There are roads in Britain that even that long). 'Oh lord,' I thought, 'what have I let myself into? This place is a soulless urban sprawl, devoid of any culture and dedicated purely to coroporate capitalism...'
Like, to put it in a historical context, Seoul has been a really unlucky city. The whole place has been razed to the ground several times, during feudal wars, during the Japanese invasion, during the Mongol invasion, during the other Japanese invasion and most recently, during the Korean war, (the city changed hands four times during the conflict and by the end of it all, less than five percent of what stood pre-war was still there - many historical buildings were deliberately destroyed by the communists). So when the South Korean government actually managed to establish itself they had a blank state to work from. The rubble was cleared away and a grid of wide roads was ploughed down, archetectural developement was strictly controlled, (South Korea was ruled by a fairly nasty right-wing cabal untill the 1980s, and they insisted on building huge monstrous buildings to celebrate state power and scare their pliant populace). Yeah... I had this same problem with Valencia, I just can't stand cities designed by fascists, I do get a real palpatable sense that every brick layed down was layed there with the peoples' worst interests at heart, nothing looks friendly, the roads are all designed for tanks and there's no real individuality to speak of. And, well, yeah... a lot of Seoul is like that. But it gets better if you branch out from the mainroads...
The first place I stayed was a private guesthouse. I was actually staying in a room of this couple's house and it did feel homely, there were antiques everywhere and well-stocked book shelves, and there was a free breakfast in the morning, dumpling soup.
Breakfast was an interesting experience. I came down at 9am and I joined one of the other tennants at the guesthouse. She was from Texas and she was a faith healer. Now, I think faith healing is a despicable line of work, essentially, you are lying to desperate people and taking their money, and in many cases encouraging them to forego actual medicine, (to this lady's defence, she did say that she didn't touch actual diseases, but insteaded focussed on 'spiritual diseases' like depression or bankruprtcy), I mean, ugh, really, its an awful thing, even if you did actually have religious faith it seems to me to be a completely immoral and sacrilegious thing to do. By specialising as a faith healer you are claiming to be given powers by God that other people don't have, (erm, sorry, that's not how Christianity works...), and even if that were the case, it would be downright sadistic to insist that people pay for your services.
Part of me would have really liked to have harrangued this old lady, accuse her of being a charlatan and a thief, an exploiter and hypocrit... but then she was really nice. Like, really friendly and everything. She talked about what brought her to Korea, (thankfully, she is the only faith-healer in Seoul), she talked about her grandkids and actually gave me a couple of really good tips about what to do on my travels. She excused herself early from breakfast to go and watch the VP debate. She was strongly supporting Sarah Palin.
She was in stark contrast to some Americans I met the next day. They were all in their late-teens/20s, and were all 'Liberals', one of them was actually a Daily Kos contributor. And they were all the biggest bunch of twats. They thought they knew every fucking thing in the whole wide world and spoke about anyone who disagreed with them with such contempt. They talked about how much they hated travelling around the world and being associated with the stereotype of Conservative America, and I was thinking... 'Wait a minute. I met a stereotype of Conservative America, and she was fucking nice. I strongly disagreed with everything she said, but she behaved with civility and genuine friendliness. You're all a bunch of arrogant cunts. Don't sit there talking about how you are the Real America and how all the world would love you if they got to know you, because no they fucking wouldn't and its god-damn arrogant to think they would."
I think this is a major reason why a lot of the world hates America. Because America always seems to god-damn angsty about how much it hates itself. One half is forever whining about how much it hates the other half. Just grow up.
Anyway, that's a bit of a jump. I met those Americans at the hostel I moved to after the guesthouse. And this hostel is really nice. Its also in a non-conformist part of Seoul, but unlike where the guesthouse was, which was non-conformist in its traditionality, this part of town is non-conformist in its... modernity? No, not modernity, because all of Seoul is modern... I don't know... in its coolness? Yeah, lets just say that. Its unique in its coolness. The streets around here are narrow and semi-pedestrianised, there are four/five storey buildings surrounding everything, and every floor is filled with businesses, (various shops, restaurants and bars - all of them quite idiosyncratic). The place quite near to a couple of university campuses to its all quite youth-orientated. Overall... yeah, its cool.
The company here's pretty good as well. I was hanging out with some Xianggungren (Hong Kongers) last night and this Australian guy and I went for lunch a few hours ago. It had to happen eventually, I've finally met a bearable Australian!!
So yeah, my early opinions of Seoul have been more or less negated. I haven't done much sight-seeing yet. I went to the Royal Shrine yesterday, (photos on the Facebook!), but I'm basically waiting untill I can cash my travellers cheques before I properly go looking around.
The last couple of nights I've been sleeping in a communal area with the windows and doors open. I've been bitten to hell by mosquitos. My arms and hands are quite disgusting to look at. Sigh, I remember in Spain Cassy and Sarah were getting bit all the time and I survived intact. Maybe I need to surround myself with nubile female flesh? For my own protection of course...
So I shall provide you with some commentary. I've been in Seoul for four days now, (wow... that's flown by...), and all in all, I'm enjoying myself. My first thoughts of the city were negative, as I travelled along in the airport bus from Incheon (the main airport, built on a island several miles away from Seoul in the Hangang delta) I despaired at the state of the city. The whole place seemed too modern, a swarm of characterless skyscrapers arranged around a grid of wide boulevards, (there is a road in central Seoul that is fourteen lanes wide... FOURTEEN LANES WIDE! There are roads in Britain that even that long). 'Oh lord,' I thought, 'what have I let myself into? This place is a soulless urban sprawl, devoid of any culture and dedicated purely to coroporate capitalism...'
Like, to put it in a historical context, Seoul has been a really unlucky city. The whole place has been razed to the ground several times, during feudal wars, during the Japanese invasion, during the Mongol invasion, during the other Japanese invasion and most recently, during the Korean war, (the city changed hands four times during the conflict and by the end of it all, less than five percent of what stood pre-war was still there - many historical buildings were deliberately destroyed by the communists). So when the South Korean government actually managed to establish itself they had a blank state to work from. The rubble was cleared away and a grid of wide roads was ploughed down, archetectural developement was strictly controlled, (South Korea was ruled by a fairly nasty right-wing cabal untill the 1980s, and they insisted on building huge monstrous buildings to celebrate state power and scare their pliant populace). Yeah... I had this same problem with Valencia, I just can't stand cities designed by fascists, I do get a real palpatable sense that every brick layed down was layed there with the peoples' worst interests at heart, nothing looks friendly, the roads are all designed for tanks and there's no real individuality to speak of. And, well, yeah... a lot of Seoul is like that. But it gets better if you branch out from the mainroads...
The first place I stayed was a private guesthouse. I was actually staying in a room of this couple's house and it did feel homely, there were antiques everywhere and well-stocked book shelves, and there was a free breakfast in the morning, dumpling soup.
Breakfast was an interesting experience. I came down at 9am and I joined one of the other tennants at the guesthouse. She was from Texas and she was a faith healer. Now, I think faith healing is a despicable line of work, essentially, you are lying to desperate people and taking their money, and in many cases encouraging them to forego actual medicine, (to this lady's defence, she did say that she didn't touch actual diseases, but insteaded focussed on 'spiritual diseases' like depression or bankruprtcy), I mean, ugh, really, its an awful thing, even if you did actually have religious faith it seems to me to be a completely immoral and sacrilegious thing to do. By specialising as a faith healer you are claiming to be given powers by God that other people don't have, (erm, sorry, that's not how Christianity works...), and even if that were the case, it would be downright sadistic to insist that people pay for your services.
Part of me would have really liked to have harrangued this old lady, accuse her of being a charlatan and a thief, an exploiter and hypocrit... but then she was really nice. Like, really friendly and everything. She talked about what brought her to Korea, (thankfully, she is the only faith-healer in Seoul), she talked about her grandkids and actually gave me a couple of really good tips about what to do on my travels. She excused herself early from breakfast to go and watch the VP debate. She was strongly supporting Sarah Palin.
She was in stark contrast to some Americans I met the next day. They were all in their late-teens/20s, and were all 'Liberals', one of them was actually a Daily Kos contributor. And they were all the biggest bunch of twats. They thought they knew every fucking thing in the whole wide world and spoke about anyone who disagreed with them with such contempt. They talked about how much they hated travelling around the world and being associated with the stereotype of Conservative America, and I was thinking... 'Wait a minute. I met a stereotype of Conservative America, and she was fucking nice. I strongly disagreed with everything she said, but she behaved with civility and genuine friendliness. You're all a bunch of arrogant cunts. Don't sit there talking about how you are the Real America and how all the world would love you if they got to know you, because no they fucking wouldn't and its god-damn arrogant to think they would."
I think this is a major reason why a lot of the world hates America. Because America always seems to god-damn angsty about how much it hates itself. One half is forever whining about how much it hates the other half. Just grow up.
Anyway, that's a bit of a jump. I met those Americans at the hostel I moved to after the guesthouse. And this hostel is really nice. Its also in a non-conformist part of Seoul, but unlike where the guesthouse was, which was non-conformist in its traditionality, this part of town is non-conformist in its... modernity? No, not modernity, because all of Seoul is modern... I don't know... in its coolness? Yeah, lets just say that. Its unique in its coolness. The streets around here are narrow and semi-pedestrianised, there are four/five storey buildings surrounding everything, and every floor is filled with businesses, (various shops, restaurants and bars - all of them quite idiosyncratic). The place quite near to a couple of university campuses to its all quite youth-orientated. Overall... yeah, its cool.
The company here's pretty good as well. I was hanging out with some Xianggungren (Hong Kongers) last night and this Australian guy and I went for lunch a few hours ago. It had to happen eventually, I've finally met a bearable Australian!!
So yeah, my early opinions of Seoul have been more or less negated. I haven't done much sight-seeing yet. I went to the Royal Shrine yesterday, (photos on the Facebook!), but I'm basically waiting untill I can cash my travellers cheques before I properly go looking around.
The last couple of nights I've been sleeping in a communal area with the windows and doors open. I've been bitten to hell by mosquitos. My arms and hands are quite disgusting to look at. Sigh, I remember in Spain Cassy and Sarah were getting bit all the time and I survived intact. Maybe I need to surround myself with nubile female flesh? For my own protection of course...
Tuesday 26 August 2008
Travelog Three: Tragedy!
I am writing this at an ungodly hour. I have woken up early so that I can ask the man at the reception here in Valencia to ring Barcelona bus station and ask them where the hell they've put my bag.
Yes dear readers, the worst has happened. I have become seperated from my big, have-everything-in-it, bag. My money, my passport, all of my clothes, everything, basically, all because some spazmonaut at Barcelona bus station decided that my bag needed to stay there, (the theory is that they saw the BA tag on my bag, saw that it said that my destination was Barcelona, and decided to keep it, OR, someone took my bag out at some point, and then didn't put it back in again). Some kind of crazy-sounding coach-person got on the coach and started Spanishing at us - probably about my bag, but at the time we didn't know that.
So yeah. This is a potentially trip-ruining event, and I'm really pissed off. Its Tomatina today, but I don't have all the white clothes I bought especially for it. GRR!!!
Yes dear readers, the worst has happened. I have become seperated from my big, have-everything-in-it, bag. My money, my passport, all of my clothes, everything, basically, all because some spazmonaut at Barcelona bus station decided that my bag needed to stay there, (the theory is that they saw the BA tag on my bag, saw that it said that my destination was Barcelona, and decided to keep it, OR, someone took my bag out at some point, and then didn't put it back in again). Some kind of crazy-sounding coach-person got on the coach and started Spanishing at us - probably about my bag, but at the time we didn't know that.
So yeah. This is a potentially trip-ruining event, and I'm really pissed off. Its Tomatina today, but I don't have all the white clothes I bought especially for it. GRR!!!
Monday 25 August 2008
Travelog the Second
Today is tomorrow, happy today, tomorrowpeople!
Yesterday was fun. We went to building designed by Gaudi, inside there was an apartment filled with furniture he designed or something, I don't know, my audio-guide thingamy wasn't working, so I couldn't tell what was going on. It reminded me of being dragged around stately homes as a child, and having my parents and English Heritage frantically trying to convince me that period-piece furniture and fittings constituted something I should be interested in.
But then! We got up into the loft and then onto the roof, which were great. The roof is made up of a huge bulbous undulating shape, that is supported on a system of interior pillars and held up with hundreds of arches. The loft is one big room that covers the entirety of the upper level, thus allowing air to circulate and keep everyone nice and cool. The roof was even greater. There were about a dozen funky chimneys and stuff was tiled and it was cool and awesome. I have some pretty good pictures of me and Sarah on that roof, I'll endeavour to upload them at some point.
We made our own dinner in the hostel kitchen, it was a jillion percent cheaper than eating out), well, probably about thirty percent actually), and was also pretty tasty. To wash it down we drank Bacardi. Everyone around us envied us for our Bacardi-bibations.
That night, we tried to go to this club, but we were late. So then we wandered around town. We found another club that was lame and terrible, yet, acceptable to our needs. People in the club were smoking while dancing, at first I found that annoying, and then I found it intolerable, (I managed to skim my hand over someone's lit cigarette which was painful, and then there was this gay Chinese guy who kept gyrating around us blowing smoke everywhere. But meh, it was something to do.
We left there at 5am, and got the last bus home. Barcelona, by the way, is really good for night buses, the services are essentially 24-hour, which, really, all bus services should be.
I don't know where Cassy and Sarah are. I slept in this morning and tried to contact them, but I'm getting no responses. Maybe they killed each other?
Yesterday was fun. We went to building designed by Gaudi, inside there was an apartment filled with furniture he designed or something, I don't know, my audio-guide thingamy wasn't working, so I couldn't tell what was going on. It reminded me of being dragged around stately homes as a child, and having my parents and English Heritage frantically trying to convince me that period-piece furniture and fittings constituted something I should be interested in.
But then! We got up into the loft and then onto the roof, which were great. The roof is made up of a huge bulbous undulating shape, that is supported on a system of interior pillars and held up with hundreds of arches. The loft is one big room that covers the entirety of the upper level, thus allowing air to circulate and keep everyone nice and cool. The roof was even greater. There were about a dozen funky chimneys and stuff was tiled and it was cool and awesome. I have some pretty good pictures of me and Sarah on that roof, I'll endeavour to upload them at some point.
We made our own dinner in the hostel kitchen, it was a jillion percent cheaper than eating out), well, probably about thirty percent actually), and was also pretty tasty. To wash it down we drank Bacardi. Everyone around us envied us for our Bacardi-bibations.
That night, we tried to go to this club, but we were late. So then we wandered around town. We found another club that was lame and terrible, yet, acceptable to our needs. People in the club were smoking while dancing, at first I found that annoying, and then I found it intolerable, (I managed to skim my hand over someone's lit cigarette which was painful, and then there was this gay Chinese guy who kept gyrating around us blowing smoke everywhere. But meh, it was something to do.
We left there at 5am, and got the last bus home. Barcelona, by the way, is really good for night buses, the services are essentially 24-hour, which, really, all bus services should be.
I don't know where Cassy and Sarah are. I slept in this morning and tried to contact them, but I'm getting no responses. Maybe they killed each other?
Sunday 24 August 2008
Travlog the First
I've never been on an aeroplane on my own before. Turns out I'm not very good at it. Like, you know how I hover through my life in a permenant state of confused dazedacity, well, take that, and imagine it in a situation where you have to actually pay attention to what's happening and who's telling you to do what. It was more than my puny rat-brain could handle!
Well, technically, it was less than my puny rat-brain could handle, because I did manage to successfully catch a plane and I am now in Barcelona!!
My first experience of Barcelona is getting lost. I tried to catch the metro from the aero-port, but the route map was confusing and I couldn't figure out whut was whut. I got about half the way to my hostel and thought 'fuck this shit', and proceded to get a taxi. All the taximen spoke Catalan, which I don't, so I didn't understand a word. I kept saying '¿como estas?' 'cos I thought that meant 'how much?', but it doesn't, it means 'how are you?', so when Senor Taximan kept replying 'bien' (Catalan for 'good'), I thought he was saying 'ten' (English for 'ten'). Imagine my surprise when I tried to pay him with €10! Ha! Anecdote!
Cassy and Sarah are also here. I met them. They have been here two days and they are mega-awesome super-already-know all of Barcelona. I turn up like a total muppet and they start telling me what metro lines go where and how I should have travelled like a pair of know-it-somes! I'll figure it out, its just 'cos they had a head start, by the end of these three days I too shall be a Barcelexpert!
Last night I saw a guy squeezing the whoozits out of his ladyfriend's boob. Because I am so refined, this revolted me to such an extent that the only way I could deal with it was to laugh. Actually, forget the refinement, I just thought it was funny.
Anyway, today should be fun. So far I've: discovered that my shower gel leaked in my bag, covering my toiletries in a sticky green goo; offended my mother over the phone by telling her not to ring me while I'm away, (again, she's done so twice since last night, I wouldn't mind (well, I would, my mum used to ring me all the time in Lancaster, and it really got annoying) if it wasn't for the fact it very moneycosts me to accept phone calls from outside Spain at the moment); and I've had a not-very-good breakfast of Coco Pop-alikes and bread. Cassy and Sarah have organised an itinery of touristy goodness, so that'll be fun.
I'll keep y'all posted. Hasta la vista, bitches!
x
Well, technically, it was less than my puny rat-brain could handle, because I did manage to successfully catch a plane and I am now in Barcelona!!
My first experience of Barcelona is getting lost. I tried to catch the metro from the aero-port, but the route map was confusing and I couldn't figure out whut was whut. I got about half the way to my hostel and thought 'fuck this shit', and proceded to get a taxi. All the taximen spoke Catalan, which I don't, so I didn't understand a word. I kept saying '¿como estas?' 'cos I thought that meant 'how much?', but it doesn't, it means 'how are you?', so when Senor Taximan kept replying 'bien' (Catalan for 'good'), I thought he was saying 'ten' (English for 'ten'). Imagine my surprise when I tried to pay him with €10! Ha! Anecdote!
Cassy and Sarah are also here. I met them. They have been here two days and they are mega-awesome super-already-know all of Barcelona. I turn up like a total muppet and they start telling me what metro lines go where and how I should have travelled like a pair of know-it-somes! I'll figure it out, its just 'cos they had a head start, by the end of these three days I too shall be a Barcelexpert!
Last night I saw a guy squeezing the whoozits out of his ladyfriend's boob. Because I am so refined, this revolted me to such an extent that the only way I could deal with it was to laugh. Actually, forget the refinement, I just thought it was funny.
Anyway, today should be fun. So far I've: discovered that my shower gel leaked in my bag, covering my toiletries in a sticky green goo; offended my mother over the phone by telling her not to ring me while I'm away, (again, she's done so twice since last night, I wouldn't mind (well, I would, my mum used to ring me all the time in Lancaster, and it really got annoying) if it wasn't for the fact it very moneycosts me to accept phone calls from outside Spain at the moment); and I've had a not-very-good breakfast of Coco Pop-alikes and bread. Cassy and Sarah have organised an itinery of touristy goodness, so that'll be fun.
I'll keep y'all posted. Hasta la vista, bitches!
x
Saturday 31 May 2008
Coincidences and Courvoisier
If the Razor-toothed Hawk-god of Evolution came up to me and asked, 'Hey Tom, what would you say is one of the biggest flaws with the human species?', I would give it a think and say, 'Hmm, probably our inability to recognise coincidences.'
Now, the ability to recognise patterns is a great thing, without it, there'd be no science and no technology - this ability is probably one of the best things on that list of things that 'separate us from the animals'. But this instinctual urge to spot patterns is often uncontrollable, even when something genuinely coincidental happens, the instinct to apply patterns stays strong.
Like, say some guy is praying to the heavens for some rain to water his crops. The next day, it rains, and his crops are watered. Several weeks later, his crops are thirsty again, he prays, and the rains come the next day. Then, another several weeks later, his crops are again thirsty, this time, he prays but no rains come the next day. However, instead of dismissing the pattern of prayer=rain, he adds to it, and concludes that his prayer wasn't answered due to some of the actions he performed on that last day - he concludes that his dinner of chilli con carne was hated by the gods, he concludes that the gods hate red shirts, 'cos he was wearing a red shirt while praying last time, etc. etc. He attempts to recreate exactly what was in common between the first two times he prayed, but again, no rains come. This becomes interpreted by the pattern-applier that he should wage a crusade against his red-wearing chilli-eating neighbours.
All the while, those first two rainfalls were coincidental. The man's actions did not influence them in the least.
I'd argue that much of what we believe, (not just what we believe religiously, but all sorts of things), comes from applying patterns to things that were ultimately just coincidental. It leads to us believing many illogical things, and, much worse, believing that our illogical beliefs are superior to the illogical beliefs of others.
We'd be much better off if we were able to instinctively know when something was probably coincidental, and when something was generally a result of an exterior pattern. Alas, the instinct is too strong.
IN OTHER NEWS!
I'm going to a cocktail party tonight. On the London Underground Circle Line. Schmoris Schmohnson has decided to ban alcohol consumption on the Tube, so some guys have had the idea to throw a formal cocktail party on the Circle Line before the ban comes in tomorrow. I've got myself all dressed up in a shirt, tie and waistcoat. Its very tight. I feel like I am corsetted.
IN OTHER NEWS!
Have you heard this thing about the guys near the site of the Heathrow extension alligning themselves up to make a giant "NO" visible for passing planes? About half of the people in those planes will look down and think, ''On'? Why does it say 'on'?'
Now, the ability to recognise patterns is a great thing, without it, there'd be no science and no technology - this ability is probably one of the best things on that list of things that 'separate us from the animals'. But this instinctual urge to spot patterns is often uncontrollable, even when something genuinely coincidental happens, the instinct to apply patterns stays strong.
Like, say some guy is praying to the heavens for some rain to water his crops. The next day, it rains, and his crops are watered. Several weeks later, his crops are thirsty again, he prays, and the rains come the next day. Then, another several weeks later, his crops are again thirsty, this time, he prays but no rains come the next day. However, instead of dismissing the pattern of prayer=rain, he adds to it, and concludes that his prayer wasn't answered due to some of the actions he performed on that last day - he concludes that his dinner of chilli con carne was hated by the gods, he concludes that the gods hate red shirts, 'cos he was wearing a red shirt while praying last time, etc. etc. He attempts to recreate exactly what was in common between the first two times he prayed, but again, no rains come. This becomes interpreted by the pattern-applier that he should wage a crusade against his red-wearing chilli-eating neighbours.
All the while, those first two rainfalls were coincidental. The man's actions did not influence them in the least.
I'd argue that much of what we believe, (not just what we believe religiously, but all sorts of things), comes from applying patterns to things that were ultimately just coincidental. It leads to us believing many illogical things, and, much worse, believing that our illogical beliefs are superior to the illogical beliefs of others.
We'd be much better off if we were able to instinctively know when something was probably coincidental, and when something was generally a result of an exterior pattern. Alas, the instinct is too strong.
IN OTHER NEWS!
I'm going to a cocktail party tonight. On the London Underground Circle Line. Schmoris Schmohnson has decided to ban alcohol consumption on the Tube, so some guys have had the idea to throw a formal cocktail party on the Circle Line before the ban comes in tomorrow. I've got myself all dressed up in a shirt, tie and waistcoat. Its very tight. I feel like I am corsetted.
IN OTHER NEWS!
Have you heard this thing about the guys near the site of the Heathrow extension alligning themselves up to make a giant "NO" visible for passing planes? About half of the people in those planes will look down and think, ''On'? Why does it say 'on'?'
Tuesday 27 May 2008
I should really start dressing more normal-styled...
Today I am wearing red and black-striped spandexxy jeans and a Rastafarian hat. I have very little idea why. The hat is old school, I bought it in France years ago, but the jeans are new. I bought them at the Camden Town market, 'wow,' I thought, those look really cool and attention-grabbing, so I bought them, and its only now, once I'm walking around in them, that I remember how rarely it is that I actually enjoy looking attention-grabby. And I could probably also tell you an identical story for almost every other piece of clothing I own. So perhaps the moral of this story is think before you shop? I don't know, feel free to learn that moral if you want, 'cos I almost certainly won't.
I also bought a pair of red Converse All Stars. Just 'cos I felt it was expected of me...
I was watching 'Election' last night, which wasn't lost/stolen by Reuben as I had believed it was, rather, it was at the bottom of a huge DVD pile somewhere in Solihull. So perhaps I owe Rooby McStealtheft an apology, then again, maybe I don't, seeing as he also has my copy of 'Withnail and I' - which his is no doubt mistreating! Probably sexually as well. The other day... he sent me one of the DVD's toes in the post, with a note made out of cut-out magazine letters saying that there were nine more where that came from if I tried anything funny like calling the police... He's a bad egg, that'n.
Anyway, where was I? Yes, 'Election'. Hillary Clinton is just like Reese Witherspoon's character. And that's why I don't like her. I've managed to put my finger on that intangible reason why Clinton rubs me the wrong way. Its because Alexander Payne brainwashed me.
Later on today, I'm going to go to the Iranian Embassy. I wonder whether it'll be nice... I wonder whether they will ask me to make a token offering of earth and water (oh yeah, '300' references, that's where I'm bringing this!).
Best of luck in all your endeavours,
Tom.
EDIT: The Iranian Embassy was nice. Everyone was very well-dressed.
I also bought a pair of red Converse All Stars. Just 'cos I felt it was expected of me...
I was watching 'Election' last night, which wasn't lost/stolen by Reuben as I had believed it was, rather, it was at the bottom of a huge DVD pile somewhere in Solihull. So perhaps I owe Rooby McStealtheft an apology, then again, maybe I don't, seeing as he also has my copy of 'Withnail and I' - which his is no doubt mistreating! Probably sexually as well. The other day... he sent me one of the DVD's toes in the post, with a note made out of cut-out magazine letters saying that there were nine more where that came from if I tried anything funny like calling the police... He's a bad egg, that'n.
Anyway, where was I? Yes, 'Election'. Hillary Clinton is just like Reese Witherspoon's character. And that's why I don't like her. I've managed to put my finger on that intangible reason why Clinton rubs me the wrong way. Its because Alexander Payne brainwashed me.
Later on today, I'm going to go to the Iranian Embassy. I wonder whether it'll be nice... I wonder whether they will ask me to make a token offering of earth and water (oh yeah, '300' references, that's where I'm bringing this!).
Best of luck in all your endeavours,
Tom.
EDIT: The Iranian Embassy was nice. Everyone was very well-dressed.
Wednesday 7 May 2008
It is warm.
It is warm. Like, man... so warm. I'm here wearing a shirt and earlier also a jacket and I was thinking all like, 'whoa... so warm, I wish there was some kind of breeze'.
Alas, its probably just going to get hotter from now on. I hate it when its hot, everyone walks around with nothing on and I end up feeling like a fat sack of crap, and then my hair gets all hot and I have to make the heart-breaking decision of whether to cut it. Sometimes I wish it would just stay cold, like, not the level of cold where being outside physically makes you cry with pain, but y'know, coolcold.
AND ANOTHER THING! How about this American election process, eh? It just keeps on going. Like, it just keeps on fucking going. Everytime it looks like its finally going to fucking stop it just keeps on fucking going. And like any event that involves more than one American talking for any length of time, eventually some pretty retarded things get said.
The latest retarding thing is Hillary Clinton and co. trying to label Barack Obama as an 'élitist'. Hillary Clinton, a woman descended from more than one of the people present at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, is trying to label Barack Obama, a man who has lived in countries with annual incomes smaller than cost of certain dinner parties Clinton has attended, Barack Obama, a child of a single mother who spent most of his time in the USA living off of food stamps.
Of course, in this context, 'élitist' doesn't mean what any dictionary-owning person would assume it would mean, in this context, 'élitist' means 'smart' - the most dreaded quality for an American politician. Hillary Clinton is basically appealing to anti-Intellectualism, over her campaign she's transitioned from being Ms. Know-It-All Washinton Bigshot, to 'an Average Joe', or rather, to what the contemptuous political élites, (I'm talking about real élites here), believe the Average Joe to be, ignorant and bigoted.
Anti-Intellectualism isn't just stupid and misinformed - its dangerous. When people casually and contemptuously disregard the opinions of people who have spent decades considering a particular issue, and instead chose to 'follow their hearts', then what you are basically seeing is the first throes of a dying civilisation. For instance, Hillary Clinton recently proposed that fuel taxes shouldn't apply during the summer holiday-period, economists everywhere said that that was populist and foolhardy, Clinton then responded that she didn't need to listen to economists - not even on *ahem* ECONOMIC issues!! And then you have parents who believe that they are more qualified to teach their kids science than scientists, to teach them about sex than sexperts, to fly them in aeroplanes than aeroplane pilots...
Okay, the last one is an exaggeration, but you get the idea. When people take offence to being told they are not experts, and instead believe that they are entitled to make important decisions based solely on the flimsiest of pretexts, then things are almost certainly going to go wrong. Now before I'm accused of anti-Americanism, I want to stress that anti-Intellectualism isn't purely an American disease, although it definitely is more pronounced on their side of the Atlantic, possibly because during the 16th-17th Centuries, Europeans fought in defence of reason and rationality against superstitious, irrational and arbitrary governments - whereas Americans fought in defence of superstition and irrationality against 'Enlightened' European governments.
Anti-Intellectualism is in our country too. When people commit themselves to eating organic food because they have no confidence in the ability of the scientists involved in the production of 'non-organic food' (he said oxymoronically) not to inadvertantly poison them, then they are showing contempt towards science, rationality and the whole basis of human civilisation. Does it not occur to these people that a chemical produced in a lab, and subjected to decades of evaluations and tests is less likely to be harmful to a human being than an ingredient plucked straight from nature, (nature, after all, doesn't exist in order to satisfy the nutritional demands of man - if anything, nature exists in order to kill man and assure that his nutrients are absorbed into the soil and gobbled up by those bastard plants).
But the worst thing about anti-Intellectualism is that it denies people oppurtunies. A society that values expertise inspires people to achieve, whereas a society that devalues expertise inspires people to keep their mouths and their minds shut in order to conform. In all societies, there are intellectual disparities, some people are smarter than others, if the smart excel then the less smart may feel inferior, and that's bad, but if the smart are compelled by their societies to dismiss expertise and conform with the anti-Intellectual consensus, then everybody loses out as new technologies, new medical cures and new modes of social organisation remain uninvented.
Alas, its probably just going to get hotter from now on. I hate it when its hot, everyone walks around with nothing on and I end up feeling like a fat sack of crap, and then my hair gets all hot and I have to make the heart-breaking decision of whether to cut it. Sometimes I wish it would just stay cold, like, not the level of cold where being outside physically makes you cry with pain, but y'know, coolcold.
AND ANOTHER THING! How about this American election process, eh? It just keeps on going. Like, it just keeps on fucking going. Everytime it looks like its finally going to fucking stop it just keeps on fucking going. And like any event that involves more than one American talking for any length of time, eventually some pretty retarded things get said.
The latest retarding thing is Hillary Clinton and co. trying to label Barack Obama as an 'élitist'. Hillary Clinton, a woman descended from more than one of the people present at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, is trying to label Barack Obama, a man who has lived in countries with annual incomes smaller than cost of certain dinner parties Clinton has attended, Barack Obama, a child of a single mother who spent most of his time in the USA living off of food stamps.
Of course, in this context, 'élitist' doesn't mean what any dictionary-owning person would assume it would mean, in this context, 'élitist' means 'smart' - the most dreaded quality for an American politician. Hillary Clinton is basically appealing to anti-Intellectualism, over her campaign she's transitioned from being Ms. Know-It-All Washinton Bigshot, to 'an Average Joe', or rather, to what the contemptuous political élites, (I'm talking about real élites here), believe the Average Joe to be, ignorant and bigoted.
Anti-Intellectualism isn't just stupid and misinformed - its dangerous. When people casually and contemptuously disregard the opinions of people who have spent decades considering a particular issue, and instead chose to 'follow their hearts', then what you are basically seeing is the first throes of a dying civilisation. For instance, Hillary Clinton recently proposed that fuel taxes shouldn't apply during the summer holiday-period, economists everywhere said that that was populist and foolhardy, Clinton then responded that she didn't need to listen to economists - not even on *ahem* ECONOMIC issues!! And then you have parents who believe that they are more qualified to teach their kids science than scientists, to teach them about sex than sexperts, to fly them in aeroplanes than aeroplane pilots...
Okay, the last one is an exaggeration, but you get the idea. When people take offence to being told they are not experts, and instead believe that they are entitled to make important decisions based solely on the flimsiest of pretexts, then things are almost certainly going to go wrong. Now before I'm accused of anti-Americanism, I want to stress that anti-Intellectualism isn't purely an American disease, although it definitely is more pronounced on their side of the Atlantic, possibly because during the 16th-17th Centuries, Europeans fought in defence of reason and rationality against superstitious, irrational and arbitrary governments - whereas Americans fought in defence of superstition and irrationality against 'Enlightened' European governments.
Anti-Intellectualism is in our country too. When people commit themselves to eating organic food because they have no confidence in the ability of the scientists involved in the production of 'non-organic food' (he said oxymoronically) not to inadvertantly poison them, then they are showing contempt towards science, rationality and the whole basis of human civilisation. Does it not occur to these people that a chemical produced in a lab, and subjected to decades of evaluations and tests is less likely to be harmful to a human being than an ingredient plucked straight from nature, (nature, after all, doesn't exist in order to satisfy the nutritional demands of man - if anything, nature exists in order to kill man and assure that his nutrients are absorbed into the soil and gobbled up by those bastard plants).
But the worst thing about anti-Intellectualism is that it denies people oppurtunies. A society that values expertise inspires people to achieve, whereas a society that devalues expertise inspires people to keep their mouths and their minds shut in order to conform. In all societies, there are intellectual disparities, some people are smarter than others, if the smart excel then the less smart may feel inferior, and that's bad, but if the smart are compelled by their societies to dismiss expertise and conform with the anti-Intellectual consensus, then everybody loses out as new technologies, new medical cures and new modes of social organisation remain uninvented.
Monday 5 May 2008
Hola Chiquitos Y Chiquitas
Hey. Happy Cinqo de Mayo, the day when Mexican zombies inarticulately attempt to convince us of the miracle of life!
So, you may notice something different about me? A certain je ne sais pas, something both intangible and un-finger-put-on-able. Well, I shall satiate your curiosities, I am cool now.
That's right, totally cool. I entered a caccoon of awkwardness (in the guise of a tattoo parlour), and emerged as a butterfly of awesomeness. So yeah, I now have a tattoo, and its really cool, its a band around the top of my arm, a band made of a dotted scissor line (y'know like, coupons on the back of cereal boxes, and they have the dotted line to tell you where to cut along... yeah, like that).
Getting tattooed was pretty fun, I got to lie down in a well air-conditioned room for like a whole hour. On the other hand, there are rapid and frequent needlings occuring as the tattoomotron has its way with you, but as pain goes, it is thoroughly bareable, (apparently, the place I got tattooed, (the underside of the arm), is one of the most painful places, and even that wasn't so bad, (apart from a few times when the needle hit a nerve and it felt like someone had sliced all the way down the side of my torso with a vinegar-tipped scalpel)). The worst part was sitting in the waiting room, because, like, without knowing what to expect you can work yourself into a state. I tried to distract myself by reading an interview in a magazine with Buck Angel, but that was only semi-successful.
So yeah, I have that now. And I'm really happy with it. (Yay).
In other news, I've now decided that I'm transferring universities. I'm going to leave Lancaster University and restart my second year somewhere else, my second year here has basically been a giant fail - I managed to just about force out a set of below-par essays for my first term, but the second term, I just couldn't bring myself to sit down and write them. I mean, I'm pretty lazy when it comes to academic work, (and you better take that confession while you can, because I very rarely admit that), but this year its been more than that, like, in Sixth Form, I managed to force myself to work by telling myself, 'Tom, you have to work or you'll be kicked out' - but in Lancaster, there is literally nothing I would rather have happen than to be kicked out. I truly hate this place sometimes.
But there are other times when I actually quite like it here, and these times made it difficult to commit to dropping out earlier, (I think I first considered doing so in the second term last year...). But I've really been pushed over the edge this term. Like, one thing, when I leave Lancaster there will be absolutely no-one I will keep in touch with - i.e. I'm wasting my time! If I stay here and drastically try to finish my degree I will just regret it, I'd look back in years to come and think 'what a fucking waste of three years of my life', and I already have quite enough regrets thank you very much.
So a-transferrin' I shall go. Maybe I'll also take a gap year? MAYBE I'LL DO EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING!!!
In local news: I locked myself out of my house the day before last. I popped out to the pub across the road and forgot to take my housekeys. I knocked to get back in, but my housemates weren't there, (they usually leave for days on end, which I generally approve of, because I hate those cunts and wish they were dead), but this time it meant I was homeless.
I tried to, (and got quite close to), breaking into my house. Basically, my row of houses back onto an alleyway thing, but the alleyway is like 7-8ft further down, so all the back gardens end in a wall thats about 4ft tall on the house-end, and 8ft tall on the alleyway end. I managed to get into my back garden by borrowing a trolley from the Spar, propping it on its end against the wall and then climbing it like a ladder. I managed to get into my back garden, but then the back door was locked. Grr!
I spent the night at an acquaintences house. He had some friends over and they were watching Matrix Revolutions, which is a film I always used to defend, but after recently watching it, now think is crap - it does, however, have Michael from Lost in it.
The next day, the housemates still didn't return, and I was starting to smell! Like, even worse than usual. So I had to call out a locksmith. He turned up at the house, slid a plastic thing through the door and it popped straight open. Then I had to give him £55. That put me in a pretty bad mood.
Luckily, I got to watch the new episode of Family Guy, the new, Star Wars themed episode of Family Guy. It was good. There was a bit at the end when Chris was telling Peter that Robot Chicken had already done a Star Wars episode, and then Peter went and completely slated Robot Chicken, it was fourth-wall-breakingly funny.
AND NOW ITS TODAY! I've spent most of today waiting for a bus. Fun times.
So, you may notice something different about me? A certain je ne sais pas, something both intangible and un-finger-put-on-able. Well, I shall satiate your curiosities, I am cool now.
That's right, totally cool. I entered a caccoon of awkwardness (in the guise of a tattoo parlour), and emerged as a butterfly of awesomeness. So yeah, I now have a tattoo, and its really cool, its a band around the top of my arm, a band made of a dotted scissor line (y'know like, coupons on the back of cereal boxes, and they have the dotted line to tell you where to cut along... yeah, like that).
Getting tattooed was pretty fun, I got to lie down in a well air-conditioned room for like a whole hour. On the other hand, there are rapid and frequent needlings occuring as the tattoomotron has its way with you, but as pain goes, it is thoroughly bareable, (apparently, the place I got tattooed, (the underside of the arm), is one of the most painful places, and even that wasn't so bad, (apart from a few times when the needle hit a nerve and it felt like someone had sliced all the way down the side of my torso with a vinegar-tipped scalpel)). The worst part was sitting in the waiting room, because, like, without knowing what to expect you can work yourself into a state. I tried to distract myself by reading an interview in a magazine with Buck Angel, but that was only semi-successful.
So yeah, I have that now. And I'm really happy with it. (Yay).
In other news, I've now decided that I'm transferring universities. I'm going to leave Lancaster University and restart my second year somewhere else, my second year here has basically been a giant fail - I managed to just about force out a set of below-par essays for my first term, but the second term, I just couldn't bring myself to sit down and write them. I mean, I'm pretty lazy when it comes to academic work, (and you better take that confession while you can, because I very rarely admit that), but this year its been more than that, like, in Sixth Form, I managed to force myself to work by telling myself, 'Tom, you have to work or you'll be kicked out' - but in Lancaster, there is literally nothing I would rather have happen than to be kicked out. I truly hate this place sometimes.
But there are other times when I actually quite like it here, and these times made it difficult to commit to dropping out earlier, (I think I first considered doing so in the second term last year...). But I've really been pushed over the edge this term. Like, one thing, when I leave Lancaster there will be absolutely no-one I will keep in touch with - i.e. I'm wasting my time! If I stay here and drastically try to finish my degree I will just regret it, I'd look back in years to come and think 'what a fucking waste of three years of my life', and I already have quite enough regrets thank you very much.
So a-transferrin' I shall go. Maybe I'll also take a gap year? MAYBE I'LL DO EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING!!!
In local news: I locked myself out of my house the day before last. I popped out to the pub across the road and forgot to take my housekeys. I knocked to get back in, but my housemates weren't there, (they usually leave for days on end, which I generally approve of, because I hate those cunts and wish they were dead), but this time it meant I was homeless.
I tried to, (and got quite close to), breaking into my house. Basically, my row of houses back onto an alleyway thing, but the alleyway is like 7-8ft further down, so all the back gardens end in a wall thats about 4ft tall on the house-end, and 8ft tall on the alleyway end. I managed to get into my back garden by borrowing a trolley from the Spar, propping it on its end against the wall and then climbing it like a ladder. I managed to get into my back garden, but then the back door was locked. Grr!
I spent the night at an acquaintences house. He had some friends over and they were watching Matrix Revolutions, which is a film I always used to defend, but after recently watching it, now think is crap - it does, however, have Michael from Lost in it.
The next day, the housemates still didn't return, and I was starting to smell! Like, even worse than usual. So I had to call out a locksmith. He turned up at the house, slid a plastic thing through the door and it popped straight open. Then I had to give him £55. That put me in a pretty bad mood.
Luckily, I got to watch the new episode of Family Guy, the new, Star Wars themed episode of Family Guy. It was good. There was a bit at the end when Chris was telling Peter that Robot Chicken had already done a Star Wars episode, and then Peter went and completely slated Robot Chicken, it was fourth-wall-breakingly funny.
AND NOW ITS TODAY! I've spent most of today waiting for a bus. Fun times.
Tuesday 1 April 2008
I'm In A Helicopter
I'M IN A HELICOPTER!
Man, I'm writing this on this fancy little portable computer thing, that this helicopter guy has given me to use. I'm supposed to be using it to contact his superiors on the flying fortress, to tell them that he's fulfilled his mission, but that only took about five minutes, so I thought I'd smash out a blog while I was here.
I mean, its not like, he can tell, he's too busy flying the helicopter, and I'll make sure to clear the history afterward.
Hmm... He's beginning to seem a bit suspicious about how long I'm taking sending this message. At least, I think he's a he, its a bit difficult to tell with Reptilians.
Anyway, I really need to wrap this up. Oh, and sorry, this helicopter ride, its kind of an evacuation. By the end of the day the Reptilians will attack, wiping out human hegemony of this world, so most of you guys will probably be sent to the slave camps before you can read this. Oh well.
April Fools!
Man, I'm writing this on this fancy little portable computer thing, that this helicopter guy has given me to use. I'm supposed to be using it to contact his superiors on the flying fortress, to tell them that he's fulfilled his mission, but that only took about five minutes, so I thought I'd smash out a blog while I was here.
I mean, its not like, he can tell, he's too busy flying the helicopter, and I'll make sure to clear the history afterward.
Hmm... He's beginning to seem a bit suspicious about how long I'm taking sending this message. At least, I think he's a he, its a bit difficult to tell with Reptilians.
Anyway, I really need to wrap this up. Oh, and sorry, this helicopter ride, its kind of an evacuation. By the end of the day the Reptilians will attack, wiping out human hegemony of this world, so most of you guys will probably be sent to the slave camps before you can read this. Oh well.
April Fools!
Tuesday 18 March 2008
A Boring Update
People are asking why I don't update more frequently, in answer to this question, I present: a boring update:
The other day I moved from the smallest bedroom in my house into the biggest bedroom in my house. The big bedroom was previously occupied by Joann Massanaoud, the anally-retentive Parisian with the annoyingly foppish laugh, but now he's moved out (I think I broke his will), and his master bedroom was left vacant.
This probably happened a couple of weeks ago, but I've been reluctant to move in because the door was closed. Now, I hadn't seen Joann for days by this point, but, like Schroedinger, I couldn't be certain that Joann wasn't still in his room without collapsing the quantum probabilities and opening that door - and even though it was really unlikely, I didn't really fancy the odd chance of storming into my housemate's room with all my stuff to find that he's just been sitting on his bed silently and in the dark for the past fortnight. That would have been awkward.
But yeah, I finally moved in yesteryesterday, and its so spacious! I actually have space to traverse. In the small room, I was literally only able to open the door open a crack and then leap onto my bed. On the other hand, all that empty space means that it does get a lot colder, and I haven't been able to pick up any reception for any of the Fours on my TV yet...
Speaking of TV. I was watching 'The Passion' on the Beeb on sunday, and James Nesbitt makes a really good Roman. The character of King Herod was made to be really sympathetic and Jesus was basically just a weirdo - which is a good angle I feel.
Speaking of Jesus, I saw this thing about Jesus within Islam. Basically, Muslims quite highly revere Jesus, acknowledging him as one of their most important prophets, however, they deny that he was God, and that he died in order to absolve all Mankind of sin. Muslims like to say to Christians that they believe in Jesus too, and that they have so much in common and they should be bestest friends... which seems silly to me, because by denying the divinity and the sacrifice of Jesus, they're denying the most important aspects of Christianity. It'd be like gatecrashing an Amnesty International meeting and saying, "Oh yeah! I believe in Human Rights too! Ah yeah, Human Rights, they're great, I love 'em to bits. Except um, I don't believe that the right to not be enslaved or murdered can be included as a Human Right..."
I'm not saying that religions shouldn't be the bestest of friends, (well, I might be, as an antitheist, the principle of divide and conquer comes to mind...), but it seems there are some things about your faith that you should maybe keep quiet if you want to win friends.
Hmm... I don't think this update is sufficiently boring... Errr... Ooh. Last night's Deep Space Nine was really good. It involved time travel and there was a dilemma. Seriously, I think DS9, (as lame-o Trekkies abbreviate it), is the ideal science fiction series, as opposed to the other Star Treks where there'll be a problem for one episode, but then the ship will just fly away from it forever as the credits role, DS9 is set on a space station, a stationary space station, so when there's a problem, it'll still be there next week. As such the series is incredibly non-episodic, instead preferring huge intricate intertwining story arcs that spread across several seasons. Its a joy to watch.
In academic news, I, um... I haven't done any of my essays for this term. I seriously have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. I mean, I know that nobody enjoys writing essays, but I seem to have a proper psychological block. It sometimes gets to the point where I'll be looking at an empty word document and find myself literally wanting to do anything else. Like, if you asked me whether I'd rather work on an essay for an hour, or be kicked in the bollucks for an hour, I would really have to think about it.
That's not to say I'm not interested. The essay questions I picked are all pretty interesting, and I reckon I could probably produce some quite detailed blog entries on their topics, or talk at length about them... But I just literally can't bring myself to start typing out these essays. Maybe its some kind of psychological crusade of self-destructiveness... I do have a tendency for those.
The other day I moved from the smallest bedroom in my house into the biggest bedroom in my house. The big bedroom was previously occupied by Joann Massanaoud, the anally-retentive Parisian with the annoyingly foppish laugh, but now he's moved out (I think I broke his will), and his master bedroom was left vacant.
This probably happened a couple of weeks ago, but I've been reluctant to move in because the door was closed. Now, I hadn't seen Joann for days by this point, but, like Schroedinger, I couldn't be certain that Joann wasn't still in his room without collapsing the quantum probabilities and opening that door - and even though it was really unlikely, I didn't really fancy the odd chance of storming into my housemate's room with all my stuff to find that he's just been sitting on his bed silently and in the dark for the past fortnight. That would have been awkward.
But yeah, I finally moved in yesteryesterday, and its so spacious! I actually have space to traverse. In the small room, I was literally only able to open the door open a crack and then leap onto my bed. On the other hand, all that empty space means that it does get a lot colder, and I haven't been able to pick up any reception for any of the Fours on my TV yet...
Speaking of TV. I was watching 'The Passion' on the Beeb on sunday, and James Nesbitt makes a really good Roman. The character of King Herod was made to be really sympathetic and Jesus was basically just a weirdo - which is a good angle I feel.
Speaking of Jesus, I saw this thing about Jesus within Islam. Basically, Muslims quite highly revere Jesus, acknowledging him as one of their most important prophets, however, they deny that he was God, and that he died in order to absolve all Mankind of sin. Muslims like to say to Christians that they believe in Jesus too, and that they have so much in common and they should be bestest friends... which seems silly to me, because by denying the divinity and the sacrifice of Jesus, they're denying the most important aspects of Christianity. It'd be like gatecrashing an Amnesty International meeting and saying, "Oh yeah! I believe in Human Rights too! Ah yeah, Human Rights, they're great, I love 'em to bits. Except um, I don't believe that the right to not be enslaved or murdered can be included as a Human Right..."
I'm not saying that religions shouldn't be the bestest of friends, (well, I might be, as an antitheist, the principle of divide and conquer comes to mind...), but it seems there are some things about your faith that you should maybe keep quiet if you want to win friends.
Hmm... I don't think this update is sufficiently boring... Errr... Ooh. Last night's Deep Space Nine was really good. It involved time travel and there was a dilemma. Seriously, I think DS9, (as lame-o Trekkies abbreviate it), is the ideal science fiction series, as opposed to the other Star Treks where there'll be a problem for one episode, but then the ship will just fly away from it forever as the credits role, DS9 is set on a space station, a stationary space station, so when there's a problem, it'll still be there next week. As such the series is incredibly non-episodic, instead preferring huge intricate intertwining story arcs that spread across several seasons. Its a joy to watch.
In academic news, I, um... I haven't done any of my essays for this term. I seriously have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. I mean, I know that nobody enjoys writing essays, but I seem to have a proper psychological block. It sometimes gets to the point where I'll be looking at an empty word document and find myself literally wanting to do anything else. Like, if you asked me whether I'd rather work on an essay for an hour, or be kicked in the bollucks for an hour, I would really have to think about it.
That's not to say I'm not interested. The essay questions I picked are all pretty interesting, and I reckon I could probably produce some quite detailed blog entries on their topics, or talk at length about them... But I just literally can't bring myself to start typing out these essays. Maybe its some kind of psychological crusade of self-destructiveness... I do have a tendency for those.
Monday 10 March 2008
A GameCube for the GameSquare
A certain someone tells me that there three things that one needs to take interest in in order to be a real man:
So then I started to drift away. I later got a Nintendo 64, but I never really got completely into it, I only really had three or four games for it...
UNTILL NOW! The other day I bought a GameCube. My friend Chris was visiting Lancaster, and he dragged me into GameStation, (what is it with gamers and KangarooCasing?), he looked around, I worked out stupid ways of saying 'video games', ('fiddero james' was my favourite). On the way out, I say the GameCube in the front window. It was a special edition including a copy of Pokémon Colloseum, and it only cost £24. I frantically tried to think of a reason why I wasn't immediately buying it, but failed, so I went in and bought it up.
The Pokémon franchise is the sole exception to my distaste for video games. I got really into it when it was big and new, (the games, not the cards, trading cards are stupid), and I never fell out of love with it. One of those three or four games I had for my N64 was Pokémon Stadium. But Pokémon alone wasn't enough to keep up-to-date with video gaming. I only ever owned an old fashioned monochrome GameBoy, so when the games stopped being compatible with that I stopped playing them. I downloaded Emulators of the new games and played those for a bit, but you couldn't trade with Emulators, or do any of the other things that needed link cables. BUT NOW! I have my £24 GameCube. So welcome back to Obsessionville, Tom!
Also, I just happened to buy this in the middle of essay-writing season... its almost as if I did that on purpose...
- The Sportball: Uncheck. Its pointless, noone ever makes any witty quips, and it just goes on forever, (figuratively, and literally). The Sportball is lame and I hate it.
- Automocars: Uncheck. In my opinion, driving is a very antisocial activity. People go around in their huge metal phallic symbols excreting tonnes of poisonous gases into the poor defenceless atmosphere. Also, some cars make loud noises. People whose cars make loud noises should be punched in the head untill they stop moving.
- And thirdly, Videro Games: Uncheck... but not as unchecked as everything else... More than the other two things, I can just about see the point of video games, (except games about playing sportball or driving automocars, those are lame), but its still not something I'm really interested in. Maybe its cos I'm not very good at them, but then maybe I'm not very good at them cos I don't play them very often? Also, they're quite expensive... like, a well-stocked video game collection is a several thousand pound investment, accumalatively. And I don't really see that its worth it...
So then I started to drift away. I later got a Nintendo 64, but I never really got completely into it, I only really had three or four games for it...
UNTILL NOW! The other day I bought a GameCube. My friend Chris was visiting Lancaster, and he dragged me into GameStation, (what is it with gamers and KangarooCasing?), he looked around, I worked out stupid ways of saying 'video games', ('fiddero james' was my favourite). On the way out, I say the GameCube in the front window. It was a special edition including a copy of Pokémon Colloseum, and it only cost £24. I frantically tried to think of a reason why I wasn't immediately buying it, but failed, so I went in and bought it up.
The Pokémon franchise is the sole exception to my distaste for video games. I got really into it when it was big and new, (the games, not the cards, trading cards are stupid), and I never fell out of love with it. One of those three or four games I had for my N64 was Pokémon Stadium. But Pokémon alone wasn't enough to keep up-to-date with video gaming. I only ever owned an old fashioned monochrome GameBoy, so when the games stopped being compatible with that I stopped playing them. I downloaded Emulators of the new games and played those for a bit, but you couldn't trade with Emulators, or do any of the other things that needed link cables. BUT NOW! I have my £24 GameCube. So welcome back to Obsessionville, Tom!
Also, I just happened to buy this in the middle of essay-writing season... its almost as if I did that on purpose...
Friday 7 March 2008
Doomsay
Hey, you know how food prices keep going up? That's pretty lame. Do you know why that happens? Because food is harder to grow these days. 'Cos of Global Warming.
Most of the nations that produced an agricultural surplus 20 years ago, (i.e. produced more tonnage of food that they themselves ate), now... um... don't. In Asia, for instance, China and India were once renown for their rice exports, now, in the entire region, only Thailand produces enough rice to be able to safely flog on the world markets without risking famine within its own borders.
The same goes for all other staple crops in the world. Millenia of selective breeding has made the plants we eat very specified. The problem with biological specification is that it leaves you very open to extinction, especially when your specific environment begins to whither away. Well, maybe thats a bit alarmist, there are countless breeds of staple crops - if a farmer notices his current crop isn't taking too well, he can order in a load of seeds for a different breed that will handle better... But this can only go so far, agricultural difficulties are steadily accumulating.
And hey, that word, 'steadily'... yeah... don't get used to it. Right now Climate Change is steady, but it won't stay that way. There are a certain number of 'tipping points' in the global system, that, once reached, cause huge chain reactions. For instance, the temperature in Antarctica only has to raise by a few more degrees to drastically increase the amount of meltwater dripping off the Antarctic Mountains, this water seeps down through the ice and accumulates between the snow and the land... essentially lubricating the entire ice sheet. Eventually, several million tonnes of ice will simply slip off the land that holds them, and result in a large increase in sea level.
This itself will cause a new chain reaction, a higher sea means higher winds, and higher winds means warmer weather at higher heights, warm weather at high heights, especially in the polar regions, will lubricate more ice sheets and fuck us up even more. So don't expect anything moderate. Ice Sheet Collapse will either not happen, or happen to an insane degree... and the former is not very likely.
So what do people do? They say, 'Uh-oh! We need to do something!', but, because they themselves are not very well informed, and, more importantly, because there is a huge multi-million pound industry dependent on misinforming them, the completely well-meaning urge to 'do something' ends up causing more harm than good.
Case in point: biofuels. Now, there are essentially two issues at stake in much what is jumbled under the 'Green' umbrella. The first is the maintaining of resources, making sure we don't run out of anything crucial, the second is protecting the macro-environment, minimising the output of greenhouse gases, etc... sometimes, these two issues interlap: for instance, recycling certain metals assures that new mines need not be opened, and preserves mineral resources for future generations, whilst simultaneously saving energy, as metal recycling often only requires a simple process of remelting and remoulding, as opposed to a process of heavy-mining, smelting, schmelting, zibbilimelting and all those other clever, yet very carbon-intensive processes, that metalmongers have devised over the centuries: metal recyling preserves resources and saves energy. However, this interlapping is far from common. Biofuels are often believed to be good for the environment: they are not. The chemical reaction taking place within a tank of biofuel is identical to the chemical reaction taking place within a tank of diesel... the benefit of biofuel is that it does not require the burrowing into of oil deposits, its impact on the atmosphere is negligible if not nonexistant.
Furthermore, the production of biofuels relies on huge areas of arable land... we're starting to see this today, in communities where people are starving, farmers chose to rip out their stable crops in order to produce the cash crops needed to made the biofuels. El Jefe himself, Fidel Castro, is a staunch proponent of this view: he says that Western insistance that Developing World farmers turn their attentions to the growing of plants to fill our cars' engines rather than the growing of plants to fill the bellies of the world's poorest people amounts to a campaign of Imperialist genocide... He may have a point.
So, good intentions + oppurtunistic capitalists = a plethora of supposedly 'Green' schemes to free you of your cash without necessarily assisting our species' ability to survive in the slightest.
And that's why environmentalism won't work. Because the principle actors involved in stopping Climate Change have no interest in stopping Climate Change. They have an interest in selling peace-of-mind to people by assuring them that they themselves are helping; supposedly, one would assume, the best way to convince an individual that they are helping would be to actually make them help... but this doesn't take into account how easily tricked human beings are. So people go about recycling their used paper, despite the fact that a) paper biodegrades completely in landfills, b) paper recycling is a mechanical industry, complete with all the conveyer belts and furnaces and all that carbon-burning shebang and c) tree farming is one of the only industries in the world that actually produces more oxygen than CO2.
My personal opinion is that instead of trying to prevent Global Warming, we should prepare for it. Forbid unsensible building on flood planes and deconstruct/dyke up anything under 30ft elevation above sea level, invest more money into greenhouse and hydroponic farming, and other methods that don't rely on the external environment. Because these are concrete aims. If we hire private companies to do these, there are simple and intuitive ways to make sure that they do actually do them, in contrast to the claims that we are given these days, ("We've built an off-shore wind farm that will help the environment!" - Will it? Can you prove it? - "Absolutely not!").
However, opinions like these are considered defeatist amongst mainstream environmentalists... so, yeah, that's why we're fucked.
Most of the nations that produced an agricultural surplus 20 years ago, (i.e. produced more tonnage of food that they themselves ate), now... um... don't. In Asia, for instance, China and India were once renown for their rice exports, now, in the entire region, only Thailand produces enough rice to be able to safely flog on the world markets without risking famine within its own borders.
The same goes for all other staple crops in the world. Millenia of selective breeding has made the plants we eat very specified. The problem with biological specification is that it leaves you very open to extinction, especially when your specific environment begins to whither away. Well, maybe thats a bit alarmist, there are countless breeds of staple crops - if a farmer notices his current crop isn't taking too well, he can order in a load of seeds for a different breed that will handle better... But this can only go so far, agricultural difficulties are steadily accumulating.
And hey, that word, 'steadily'... yeah... don't get used to it. Right now Climate Change is steady, but it won't stay that way. There are a certain number of 'tipping points' in the global system, that, once reached, cause huge chain reactions. For instance, the temperature in Antarctica only has to raise by a few more degrees to drastically increase the amount of meltwater dripping off the Antarctic Mountains, this water seeps down through the ice and accumulates between the snow and the land... essentially lubricating the entire ice sheet. Eventually, several million tonnes of ice will simply slip off the land that holds them, and result in a large increase in sea level.
This itself will cause a new chain reaction, a higher sea means higher winds, and higher winds means warmer weather at higher heights, warm weather at high heights, especially in the polar regions, will lubricate more ice sheets and fuck us up even more. So don't expect anything moderate. Ice Sheet Collapse will either not happen, or happen to an insane degree... and the former is not very likely.
So what do people do? They say, 'Uh-oh! We need to do something!', but, because they themselves are not very well informed, and, more importantly, because there is a huge multi-million pound industry dependent on misinforming them, the completely well-meaning urge to 'do something' ends up causing more harm than good.
Case in point: biofuels. Now, there are essentially two issues at stake in much what is jumbled under the 'Green' umbrella. The first is the maintaining of resources, making sure we don't run out of anything crucial, the second is protecting the macro-environment, minimising the output of greenhouse gases, etc... sometimes, these two issues interlap: for instance, recycling certain metals assures that new mines need not be opened, and preserves mineral resources for future generations, whilst simultaneously saving energy, as metal recycling often only requires a simple process of remelting and remoulding, as opposed to a process of heavy-mining, smelting, schmelting, zibbilimelting and all those other clever, yet very carbon-intensive processes, that metalmongers have devised over the centuries: metal recyling preserves resources and saves energy. However, this interlapping is far from common. Biofuels are often believed to be good for the environment: they are not. The chemical reaction taking place within a tank of biofuel is identical to the chemical reaction taking place within a tank of diesel... the benefit of biofuel is that it does not require the burrowing into of oil deposits, its impact on the atmosphere is negligible if not nonexistant.
Furthermore, the production of biofuels relies on huge areas of arable land... we're starting to see this today, in communities where people are starving, farmers chose to rip out their stable crops in order to produce the cash crops needed to made the biofuels. El Jefe himself, Fidel Castro, is a staunch proponent of this view: he says that Western insistance that Developing World farmers turn their attentions to the growing of plants to fill our cars' engines rather than the growing of plants to fill the bellies of the world's poorest people amounts to a campaign of Imperialist genocide... He may have a point.
So, good intentions + oppurtunistic capitalists = a plethora of supposedly 'Green' schemes to free you of your cash without necessarily assisting our species' ability to survive in the slightest.
And that's why environmentalism won't work. Because the principle actors involved in stopping Climate Change have no interest in stopping Climate Change. They have an interest in selling peace-of-mind to people by assuring them that they themselves are helping; supposedly, one would assume, the best way to convince an individual that they are helping would be to actually make them help... but this doesn't take into account how easily tricked human beings are. So people go about recycling their used paper, despite the fact that a) paper biodegrades completely in landfills, b) paper recycling is a mechanical industry, complete with all the conveyer belts and furnaces and all that carbon-burning shebang and c) tree farming is one of the only industries in the world that actually produces more oxygen than CO2.
My personal opinion is that instead of trying to prevent Global Warming, we should prepare for it. Forbid unsensible building on flood planes and deconstruct/dyke up anything under 30ft elevation above sea level, invest more money into greenhouse and hydroponic farming, and other methods that don't rely on the external environment. Because these are concrete aims. If we hire private companies to do these, there are simple and intuitive ways to make sure that they do actually do them, in contrast to the claims that we are given these days, ("We've built an off-shore wind farm that will help the environment!" - Will it? Can you prove it? - "Absolutely not!").
However, opinions like these are considered defeatist amongst mainstream environmentalists... so, yeah, that's why we're fucked.
Monday 25 February 2008
I'm Bill Murray, You're Everybody Else...
Why hello there my little Slights-of-Hand.
Yesteryesterday I went to Manchester. It was a pretty impulsive thing to do. I like doing impulsive things. Indeed, I often feel like I have a duty to do impulsive things when I consider all the people in the world who are stuck with loads of committments and responsibilities and all that lame stuff, surely if I have the ability shake off all my plans and head over to Manchester with little over an hours notice, then I should. Otherwise I'd be like one of those flightless birds, being envied for my possession of wings yet never actually bringing myself to use them.
So off I popped, over to Manchester. I was the honoured guest of a certain Mr Luke McLeod, (whom I had very recently deleted as a friend from Facebook on account of I couldn't remember the last time I spoke/saw/remembered him - which made me feel a peculiarly 21st Century style of guilt). We went to see films, (me, Luke and his other honoured guestette, and loyal commentee of this blog, Sarah), the first film we went to watch was Be Kind Rewind, directed by the super-fun Michel Gondry, and starring the coolly-stagenamed Mos Def and the overrated Jack Black. This was a really good film, especially the scenes showing them reenacting classic films, ('what's this turning thing? huh? what? how is that supposed to be Men in Black? oh-OH! I see... that's clever!). The film was smile-enducing, yet not schmultzy, which equals a win in my books! The viewing was somewhat ruined however by the gaggle of dump-faced shitscapaders right behind us who would just not shut the fuck up - they eventually got thrown out but not before we missed what were probably some very important plot points.
The second film we saw was Jumper, now, I know I have a tendency to be quite lenient in my reviews of things, but Jumper was absolutely terrible and I have no reservations in stressing that point. Firstly, the origins of the powers were never really explained, which they should have been - that's one of the essential rules of the Superhero genre - all it says is that there have been Jumpers around since the Middle Ages, (as you would expect, it was pretty cold back then and people wanted to keep themselves warm! A word of advice, if you see this film, take the piss everytime someone uses the word 'jumper'), and that every since they emerged they had been hunted by rapid Papists... seeing as the Jumpers only weakness, as it happens, is huge amounts of electricity, I do wonder how 14th Century monks managed to kill any of them...
Ultimately, the film suffers from Captain Scarlet-syndrome, i.e. the inability to convince you that any of the characters are actually in any kind of palpable danger. Scarlet was completely industructible, and no matter how many times an episode would cliffhang with someone would point a gun at him, everyone but the most moronic of idiots would know that he would be perfectly fine by next week - the same with this film, the Jumpers always see the Paladins, (that's what the baddies are called... I know, its stupid...), coming, and its always cockiness on their part that stops them from disappearing at the first sign of danger.
Which led to another problem. You want the heroes dead. They're all a bunch of annoying twats, swanning around having all the fun in the world... they're not even antiheroic, they're just annoying. It almost makes me wish that Hollywood's recent vogue for casting Catholics as sinister murderous conspirators were true... as far as I see it, the Papacy is clearly the lesser of two evils here.
So, went back to Luke's flat, watched Ricky Gervais' new stand-up, (its not very good), and I went to sleep on an erotically hard floor. The next day I went to go take the train back home. Alas, my platform at the station was closed, so I had to go ask the Mancunians how to get home - unfortunately, all Mancunians are rude little tosspots and told me in their snarly little nasal voices to go get on the wrong rail replacement bus. So then I was stuck at the Airport, where another gobshite told me to wait for another half hour for another bus.
Anyway, I eventually got onto my train and decided to put my Open Return to good use: by stopping off at every station of interest. So yesterday I had a quick wander-round both Bolton and Chorely, ('Comin' In Your Ears', it alarmed me to learn, is actually the town of Chorley's unofficial motto).
Bolton was alright. There was a gay bar right by the train station, but it was shut. Further into the town they had a working replica of the first steam-driven machine ever run in Bolton, I stopped to look at it for a bit and read the plaques. While I was doing so, a group of 14ish-year old girls accumulated around me and their leader asked me, "Why are you looking at that wheel?"
I replied, (and this is a reply I'm actually quite proud of), "Because I've never seen it before."
The girls then went on to request shaggings. It was at that point when I politely made my exit.
Chorely was also alright. Its actually quite beorgeois, especially by Northern standards. I found a bar that was completely empty - not just slightly empty, but completely empty.
If I had to chose where was best, (which I do), I guess I probably would pick Bolton...
Yesteryesterday I went to Manchester. It was a pretty impulsive thing to do. I like doing impulsive things. Indeed, I often feel like I have a duty to do impulsive things when I consider all the people in the world who are stuck with loads of committments and responsibilities and all that lame stuff, surely if I have the ability shake off all my plans and head over to Manchester with little over an hours notice, then I should. Otherwise I'd be like one of those flightless birds, being envied for my possession of wings yet never actually bringing myself to use them.
So off I popped, over to Manchester. I was the honoured guest of a certain Mr Luke McLeod, (whom I had very recently deleted as a friend from Facebook on account of I couldn't remember the last time I spoke/saw/remembered him - which made me feel a peculiarly 21st Century style of guilt). We went to see films, (me, Luke and his other honoured guestette, and loyal commentee of this blog, Sarah), the first film we went to watch was Be Kind Rewind, directed by the super-fun Michel Gondry, and starring the coolly-stagenamed Mos Def and the overrated Jack Black. This was a really good film, especially the scenes showing them reenacting classic films, ('what's this turning thing? huh? what? how is that supposed to be Men in Black? oh-OH! I see... that's clever!). The film was smile-enducing, yet not schmultzy, which equals a win in my books! The viewing was somewhat ruined however by the gaggle of dump-faced shitscapaders right behind us who would just not shut the fuck up - they eventually got thrown out but not before we missed what were probably some very important plot points.
The second film we saw was Jumper, now, I know I have a tendency to be quite lenient in my reviews of things, but Jumper was absolutely terrible and I have no reservations in stressing that point. Firstly, the origins of the powers were never really explained, which they should have been - that's one of the essential rules of the Superhero genre - all it says is that there have been Jumpers around since the Middle Ages, (as you would expect, it was pretty cold back then and people wanted to keep themselves warm! A word of advice, if you see this film, take the piss everytime someone uses the word 'jumper'), and that every since they emerged they had been hunted by rapid Papists... seeing as the Jumpers only weakness, as it happens, is huge amounts of electricity, I do wonder how 14th Century monks managed to kill any of them...
Ultimately, the film suffers from Captain Scarlet-syndrome, i.e. the inability to convince you that any of the characters are actually in any kind of palpable danger. Scarlet was completely industructible, and no matter how many times an episode would cliffhang with someone would point a gun at him, everyone but the most moronic of idiots would know that he would be perfectly fine by next week - the same with this film, the Jumpers always see the Paladins, (that's what the baddies are called... I know, its stupid...), coming, and its always cockiness on their part that stops them from disappearing at the first sign of danger.
Which led to another problem. You want the heroes dead. They're all a bunch of annoying twats, swanning around having all the fun in the world... they're not even antiheroic, they're just annoying. It almost makes me wish that Hollywood's recent vogue for casting Catholics as sinister murderous conspirators were true... as far as I see it, the Papacy is clearly the lesser of two evils here.
So, went back to Luke's flat, watched Ricky Gervais' new stand-up, (its not very good), and I went to sleep on an erotically hard floor. The next day I went to go take the train back home. Alas, my platform at the station was closed, so I had to go ask the Mancunians how to get home - unfortunately, all Mancunians are rude little tosspots and told me in their snarly little nasal voices to go get on the wrong rail replacement bus. So then I was stuck at the Airport, where another gobshite told me to wait for another half hour for another bus.
Anyway, I eventually got onto my train and decided to put my Open Return to good use: by stopping off at every station of interest. So yesterday I had a quick wander-round both Bolton and Chorely, ('Comin' In Your Ears', it alarmed me to learn, is actually the town of Chorley's unofficial motto).
Bolton was alright. There was a gay bar right by the train station, but it was shut. Further into the town they had a working replica of the first steam-driven machine ever run in Bolton, I stopped to look at it for a bit and read the plaques. While I was doing so, a group of 14ish-year old girls accumulated around me and their leader asked me, "Why are you looking at that wheel?"
I replied, (and this is a reply I'm actually quite proud of), "Because I've never seen it before."
The girls then went on to request shaggings. It was at that point when I politely made my exit.
Chorely was also alright. Its actually quite beorgeois, especially by Northern standards. I found a bar that was completely empty - not just slightly empty, but completely empty.
If I had to chose where was best, (which I do), I guess I probably would pick Bolton...
Tuesday 19 February 2008
A Man What's Bin A Beenman...
The other day I was thinking about what to do with myself if I actually do manage to graduate from this hellhole.
I'm thinking of taking a job as a binman. Down in That London. The 'being in That London'-bit is due to several factors: 1) that's where the Foreign and Commonwealth Office lives, and if I want to get a job from them, it would help if I lived within pestering distance, 2) fun people live there, and after three years of perpetual loneliness, I figure it'd be fun to have a social life again and 3) That London is cool.
'Shut up Tom', I hear you all saying, 'we may be idiots, but we can at least understand why you'd want to live in That London, (why do you keep calling it that?), but you better give us a rational reason why you want to be a binman, or we'll send you to Bedlam!'
Well. Um. Err. Binmanry, I feel, would be a very rewarding vocation to vocate upon whilst waiting to get my better, dream job. I would imagine rubbish collection would be a very humble job, and honestly, I feel the human race could do with a bit more humbleness, so I'll lead by example! Secondly, I think I'd be alright at it: so far in my working life I've fumbled around in offices and worked behind a bar, both of these, if I'm being objective, were things I was shit at, so I think it'd be nice to do a job that I may actually have a chance of being alright at, and where I don't have to pretend to be nice to douchefaced customers or twatty employers.
But, the main reason is that I would really like to able to say at some point a decade down the line that I, Tom Deery, used to be a binman. It'd really boost my proletarian street-cred and make younger people feel uncomfortable around me. Both deserve yays.
I'm thinking of taking a job as a binman. Down in That London. The 'being in That London'-bit is due to several factors: 1) that's where the Foreign and Commonwealth Office lives, and if I want to get a job from them, it would help if I lived within pestering distance, 2) fun people live there, and after three years of perpetual loneliness, I figure it'd be fun to have a social life again and 3) That London is cool.
'Shut up Tom', I hear you all saying, 'we may be idiots, but we can at least understand why you'd want to live in That London, (why do you keep calling it that?), but you better give us a rational reason why you want to be a binman, or we'll send you to Bedlam!'
Well. Um. Err. Binmanry, I feel, would be a very rewarding vocation to vocate upon whilst waiting to get my better, dream job. I would imagine rubbish collection would be a very humble job, and honestly, I feel the human race could do with a bit more humbleness, so I'll lead by example! Secondly, I think I'd be alright at it: so far in my working life I've fumbled around in offices and worked behind a bar, both of these, if I'm being objective, were things I was shit at, so I think it'd be nice to do a job that I may actually have a chance of being alright at, and where I don't have to pretend to be nice to douchefaced customers or twatty employers.
But, the main reason is that I would really like to able to say at some point a decade down the line that I, Tom Deery, used to be a binman. It'd really boost my proletarian street-cred and make younger people feel uncomfortable around me. Both deserve yays.
Wednesday 13 February 2008
Fairwell yon Blobs, we hardly knew ye...
BBC3 did a bit of a relaunch last night. Seeing as I have no life, this was a relatively big deal for me.
One thing that was on was a thing called 'Phoo Action', I'm going to talk about it for a bit: Phoo Action is like what a cop drama would be like if Noel Fielding scribbled all over it with crayons. Its set in 2012, (officially the most futuristic sounding year since 1996), and it follows the mutant-fighting 'sploits of Terry Phoo and Whitey Action (see, there names are the show's title, as the genre would demand). It was... alright, I guess. The BBC kind of has a problem where it seems completely unable to assign a coherent tone to its dramas, case in point, Torchwood. Phoo Action looks and feels like it belongs on CBBC, the main bad guys are a bunch of mutants and, while I'm sure their design looked good on paper, in real life they really only look acceptable to the eyes of children.
However, the female lead frequently wears very small pants, and sits with her legs wide open - the show is basically worth watching just for that. That, and pretty colours and what may turn out to be a decent double act, (hopefully).
Another thing that was on was 'Lily Allen and Friends'. This was as pleasantly surprising as the 'Charlotte Church Show' when that was first aired, and will probably get old just as fast. The twist with the show is that its content is in-part decided by Lily Allen's MySpace friends, which is 'interesting', if by 'interesting' I mean, 'I fucking hate young people'.
And this concludes the portion of the blog where I talk about Telly.
Tonight I'm going to go see the Subhumans. It will probably be the oldschooliest punk show I have ever attended. Yippee.
In other news. My laptop is still broke, and will continue to be broke for a long while and, when it finally does undergo the transition from broke back to not-broke, it will probably end up costing me around £200. Stupid technology...
One thing that was on was a thing called 'Phoo Action', I'm going to talk about it for a bit: Phoo Action is like what a cop drama would be like if Noel Fielding scribbled all over it with crayons. Its set in 2012, (officially the most futuristic sounding year since 1996), and it follows the mutant-fighting 'sploits of Terry Phoo and Whitey Action (see, there names are the show's title, as the genre would demand). It was... alright, I guess. The BBC kind of has a problem where it seems completely unable to assign a coherent tone to its dramas, case in point, Torchwood. Phoo Action looks and feels like it belongs on CBBC, the main bad guys are a bunch of mutants and, while I'm sure their design looked good on paper, in real life they really only look acceptable to the eyes of children.
However, the female lead frequently wears very small pants, and sits with her legs wide open - the show is basically worth watching just for that. That, and pretty colours and what may turn out to be a decent double act, (hopefully).
Another thing that was on was 'Lily Allen and Friends'. This was as pleasantly surprising as the 'Charlotte Church Show' when that was first aired, and will probably get old just as fast. The twist with the show is that its content is in-part decided by Lily Allen's MySpace friends, which is 'interesting', if by 'interesting' I mean, 'I fucking hate young people'.
And this concludes the portion of the blog where I talk about Telly.
Tonight I'm going to go see the Subhumans. It will probably be the oldschooliest punk show I have ever attended. Yippee.
In other news. My laptop is still broke, and will continue to be broke for a long while and, when it finally does undergo the transition from broke back to not-broke, it will probably end up costing me around £200. Stupid technology...
Saturday 2 February 2008
"All the time the ladies be asking me: 'Tom D, what's one of your favourite things on the web?', and I say, 'Ladies! Ladies...'"
I love the Wikipedia Reference Desk service.
Its completely brilliant.
Basically, for those not in The Know, the Reference Desk is a big ol' wiki page, where passers-by can ask a question, and wait for Wikipedia's most knowledgable contributors to turn up and spill their brains over their query.
The Reference Desk is split into 8(-ish?) subsections: the Language Desk, (probably the single best free translation service on the entire interwebs, while far from instantaneous, it will always translate exactly what you want it to); the Computers and Shit Desk, for computers and shit; the... um, I don't know, the Pie Desk... for like... questions about pie; about a handful of others, and, my favourite, the Humanities Desk.
The Humanities Desk is there for questions relating to Art, History, Politics and et cetera, so already its piqued my interests. Its a great place to learn. Its home to the kind of people who manage to appear charasmatic via a textual medium, (I don't know how that's done... probably witchcraft...), and who are thus quite entertaining when they start typin' on about 18th Century Scotland, or the kinky exploits of Mao Zedong.
In addition, seeing as its a wiki page, its completely editable. So often, if I'm feeling in a brain-boxxy mood, I'll edit it. Help out some 14-year old Californian on their obvious questions, its pretty rewarding. But mostly, I like submitting replies that are slightly obtuse and sardonic - not unhelpful mind!, with some skill, it is possible to be obtuse without being unhelpful.
So yes. That's why I love the Wikipedia Reference Desk. In other news, the title is a HomestarRunner.com reference.
Its completely brilliant.
Basically, for those not in The Know, the Reference Desk is a big ol' wiki page, where passers-by can ask a question, and wait for Wikipedia's most knowledgable contributors to turn up and spill their brains over their query.
The Reference Desk is split into 8(-ish?) subsections: the Language Desk, (probably the single best free translation service on the entire interwebs, while far from instantaneous, it will always translate exactly what you want it to); the Computers and Shit Desk, for computers and shit; the... um, I don't know, the Pie Desk... for like... questions about pie; about a handful of others, and, my favourite, the Humanities Desk.
The Humanities Desk is there for questions relating to Art, History, Politics and et cetera, so already its piqued my interests. Its a great place to learn. Its home to the kind of people who manage to appear charasmatic via a textual medium, (I don't know how that's done... probably witchcraft...), and who are thus quite entertaining when they start typin' on about 18th Century Scotland, or the kinky exploits of Mao Zedong.
In addition, seeing as its a wiki page, its completely editable. So often, if I'm feeling in a brain-boxxy mood, I'll edit it. Help out some 14-year old Californian on their obvious questions, its pretty rewarding. But mostly, I like submitting replies that are slightly obtuse and sardonic - not unhelpful mind!, with some skill, it is possible to be obtuse without being unhelpful.
So yes. That's why I love the Wikipedia Reference Desk. In other news, the title is a HomestarRunner.com reference.
Thursday 31 January 2008
I have two things to say:
Here are two things that I had to say, but didn't have anyone to say them to:
1) It was snowing earlier. It was great.
2) I saw a man sporting a Souvarov moustache identical to the kind I was sporting months ago. Seeing as nobody has really sported one of those since 1912, I came to assume that he must have seen me walking around with it before Christmas and become inspired. Yippee.
In other news, February is Moustache Month. May I politely suggest to my hairfaced readers that they start shaving all of the bits of their lower head that are not their upper lip? I know I will be!
Crapfully yours,
Frida Livery
1) It was snowing earlier. It was great.
2) I saw a man sporting a Souvarov moustache identical to the kind I was sporting months ago. Seeing as nobody has really sported one of those since 1912, I came to assume that he must have seen me walking around with it before Christmas and become inspired. Yippee.
In other news, February is Moustache Month. May I politely suggest to my hairfaced readers that they start shaving all of the bits of their lower head that are not their upper lip? I know I will be!
Crapfully yours,
Frida Livery
Tuesday 22 January 2008
Strangerous Times!
So yestereve, I was over at the Bobbin, thieving their Wifis, (the Bobbin is a rather nice little rock bar where Old Rosie costs less than Strongbow and where the TVs are more likely to portray the All American Rejects than the Manchester Uniteds), just, as the old cliché goes, minding my own business.
And then this guy came up to me, really quite drunk, and demanded to use my laptop. Understandably I was all like, 'um... no?'
But then he explained himself, he said that he was some kind of Internetman, and that he ran some kind of Internets, and that he had just been scammed out of several hundred thousand pounds by some wily Nigerian. I pointed out to him that pretending to be scammed is actually a fairly common way of commencing a scam, so then he said that it would be alright if I did the typing-and-clicking and he'd tell me what to do. No harm in this, thought I, although he did distract me from some rather promising games of Scrabulous... So we went through the motions of checking his Internets, he rang his friend, I talked to his friend, passwords were exchanged, yadda yadda. At some point, he asked me whether I drank, and I said "yeh, Old Rosie if you're buying." He accused me of being cheeky, but I still maintain that was rather reasonable.
So then, then crisis was averted. He came back to my table and handed me a pint of Old Rosie. 'Result,' thought I. Then he started being all weird. He turned to me and started asking loads of vague, yet intimate, questions, like 'who are you?', and 'what do you not do?'.
Now, I'm not one of those people who views their life as being particularly purposeful. Maybe that's quite tragic? Personally, I find my lack of any long-term ambitions quite liberating - I take enough pleasure from having a simple lie-in on a Wednesday morning without having to feel the need to constantly achieve some kind of dream. Then the man, (who's name was Damon Wright, as, I have just realised, I am under no obligation to protect his anonymity), started getting really angry. He started ranting at me about how I have to justify my existance.
I said, "Of course I fucking don't. Not to anyone, especially not some random drunken twat in a pub."
Then he started pulling the post-colonial guilt card. He accused me of 'having paid for my clothes', and being a 'middle-class white boy'. Now. All in all, being a middle-class white boy is pretty beneficial, indeed, probably the only thing wrong with it is occassionally being called a 'middle-class white boy', because unlike other prejudicial abuse you can't simply reply 'yes I am, and proud of it!', without appearing like a complete and utter Tory. Like, if I had been someone of the negroid persuasion, and he had called me a 'middle-class black boy', I'd be quite able to express some righteous indignation. Alas, no, I was not stuck shouting at some drunken twat having to justify having ever taking part in an economic exchange, (with my 'bought and paid for' jeans), and, indeed, my life itself.
I gave him my all time favourite fact about the so-called evils of free trade, that today, after decades of globalised free trade, there are more obese people than starving people. He said, yeah, in the West. I said, no, that's a global average. He said, show me one fat person in a natural environment. I said, the concept of a 'natural environment' is bullshit, human beings are civilisation-builders and globalisation is much more concurrent with human nature than the prehistoric hunter gatherer lifestyle. He pointed out that Western society 'overproduces'. I said, how is 'overproduction' even possible in a civilisation that thrives on the production of surplus. He asked if I'd ever even read a newspaper. I told him to stop being a patronising cunt. He claimed that he wasn't. I told him to fuck off.
So on, and so on, eventually, it became evident that he wasn't going to fuck off. The onus, it seemed was on me to be the off-fucker. However, I was only a third of the way through my free pint, and to abandon my pint would support his claim that I was just another wasteful middle-class white boy, that, and my Northern memes simply would not permit the abandonement of property. Eventually, I ended up storming out anyway, with my pint in hand. I felt guilty for depriving the Bobbin, (an establishment I still do rather like), of one of their pint glasses, but meh, they have loads, and I needed one at home anyway.
On the way home, I decided that if I ever met the Nigerian who scammed that man out of his £165,000, I would shake his hand.
And then this guy came up to me, really quite drunk, and demanded to use my laptop. Understandably I was all like, 'um... no?'
But then he explained himself, he said that he was some kind of Internetman, and that he ran some kind of Internets, and that he had just been scammed out of several hundred thousand pounds by some wily Nigerian. I pointed out to him that pretending to be scammed is actually a fairly common way of commencing a scam, so then he said that it would be alright if I did the typing-and-clicking and he'd tell me what to do. No harm in this, thought I, although he did distract me from some rather promising games of Scrabulous... So we went through the motions of checking his Internets, he rang his friend, I talked to his friend, passwords were exchanged, yadda yadda. At some point, he asked me whether I drank, and I said "yeh, Old Rosie if you're buying." He accused me of being cheeky, but I still maintain that was rather reasonable.
So then, then crisis was averted. He came back to my table and handed me a pint of Old Rosie. 'Result,' thought I. Then he started being all weird. He turned to me and started asking loads of vague, yet intimate, questions, like 'who are you?', and 'what do you not do?'.
Now, I'm not one of those people who views their life as being particularly purposeful. Maybe that's quite tragic? Personally, I find my lack of any long-term ambitions quite liberating - I take enough pleasure from having a simple lie-in on a Wednesday morning without having to feel the need to constantly achieve some kind of dream. Then the man, (who's name was Damon Wright, as, I have just realised, I am under no obligation to protect his anonymity), started getting really angry. He started ranting at me about how I have to justify my existance.
I said, "Of course I fucking don't. Not to anyone, especially not some random drunken twat in a pub."
Then he started pulling the post-colonial guilt card. He accused me of 'having paid for my clothes', and being a 'middle-class white boy'. Now. All in all, being a middle-class white boy is pretty beneficial, indeed, probably the only thing wrong with it is occassionally being called a 'middle-class white boy', because unlike other prejudicial abuse you can't simply reply 'yes I am, and proud of it!', without appearing like a complete and utter Tory. Like, if I had been someone of the negroid persuasion, and he had called me a 'middle-class black boy', I'd be quite able to express some righteous indignation. Alas, no, I was not stuck shouting at some drunken twat having to justify having ever taking part in an economic exchange, (with my 'bought and paid for' jeans), and, indeed, my life itself.
I gave him my all time favourite fact about the so-called evils of free trade, that today, after decades of globalised free trade, there are more obese people than starving people. He said, yeah, in the West. I said, no, that's a global average. He said, show me one fat person in a natural environment. I said, the concept of a 'natural environment' is bullshit, human beings are civilisation-builders and globalisation is much more concurrent with human nature than the prehistoric hunter gatherer lifestyle. He pointed out that Western society 'overproduces'. I said, how is 'overproduction' even possible in a civilisation that thrives on the production of surplus. He asked if I'd ever even read a newspaper. I told him to stop being a patronising cunt. He claimed that he wasn't. I told him to fuck off.
So on, and so on, eventually, it became evident that he wasn't going to fuck off. The onus, it seemed was on me to be the off-fucker. However, I was only a third of the way through my free pint, and to abandon my pint would support his claim that I was just another wasteful middle-class white boy, that, and my Northern memes simply would not permit the abandonement of property. Eventually, I ended up storming out anyway, with my pint in hand. I felt guilty for depriving the Bobbin, (an establishment I still do rather like), of one of their pint glasses, but meh, they have loads, and I needed one at home anyway.
On the way home, I decided that if I ever met the Nigerian who scammed that man out of his £165,000, I would shake his hand.
Saturday 19 January 2008
Let's talk about Iraq
I am probably unique amongst the 43-posted-semi-political-bloggers in that this will be the first time I will mention Iraq.
One of the reasons I've taken this long is that I'm not actually against the Iraq war, which is something many people find shocking, but meh. BUT MEH!
This wannae always the case, in 2003 I was adamantly opposed to the Iraq war - indeed, I was even interviewed by the BBC whilst on my way to the pre-War anti-War protests, and I said to the reporter lady, "if anything I do here can save a single human live, then it'd be worth it". Search it on the BBC News website, it may still be there somewhere... But yeah, at some point after the (Iraqi) general election I started to change my mind. I started to seek information about pre-War Iraq, it turned out that Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti was a genocidal bastard, and that he killed hundreds of thousands of his own people, but this campaign was stopped by the no-fly zones imposed by George Bush the Elder following the First Gulf War.
Ultimately I concluded that the Iraq War was a war intended to protect American hegemony. As, indeed, have many anti-War people. The difference is, I view this as a perfectly reasonable reason for war. Iraq, as it turns out, is (or rather, was), one of the most uniquely powerful states in the world. Iraq has one of the deciding votes on the OPEC (Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries) Council, OPEC was designed to be a body that acted in tandem to secure its own power as the virtual monopoly of oil production, and so, its own OPEC Council was designed as a body to determine when, and how much oil, should be delivered to the oil-hungry nations of the West, (indeed, the disastorous economic slump of the 1970s was caused by the (primarily Arab) nations of the OPEC decided to withdraw oil supply to the West). Before 2003, Iraq was preparing to do something much more damaging, they were preparing a coalition within the OPEC nations to overthrough the US Dollar as the primary currency of exchange within the oil market: a brief explanation: perhaps some of you have heard the term 'petrodollar' - this is because according to global law (as set down by OPEC), oil can only be bought and sold in US Dollars, so, if any nation wants to buy any oil, it has to transfer its own currency into USD before it can do so, likewise, if a nation wants to sell oil, they can oil accept prices in USD.
This gives the USA a great deal of power, as every industrialised economy in the world has to buy up their currency if they want to maintain their oil-hungry wealth producers. Iraq, pre-2003, being a nation in contempt of US power saught to transfer the sole petro-currency from the USD to the new, and quite dynamic, Euro. The Euro is unique within post-WWII history as being the only currency to pose any economic challenge to the the USD.
America would face a complete economic collapse if OPEC (if convinced by Iraq et co.) had switched the global oil-exchanging currency from the USD to the Euro, as every nation in the world would suddenly seek to sell back their vast reserves of USD, instantly devaluing the US economy.
(Such a scenario would be, in the short term, a real advantage to the Eurozone nations, and, it is worth noting, that, aside from Spain (being dominated by a single, post-Fascist party at the time), all Eurozone nations decided to oppose the Iraq War.)
So ultimately, yes, Iraq is a war in defence of American hegemony, both military, yet, more importantly, economically - the post-War Iraqi government was one of the most vocal proponents of maintaining the USD as the international currency of oil exchange.
But, however, even after this acheivement, (which probably helped secure the dominance of Western economies into this new millenium), has lead to great loss of life, (and I won't deny for a second that it has). The question is, that had Saddam had had his way, and dethroned the USD, likely many hundreds of thousands of people throughout the world would have faced starvation and destitution as their economies, so intricately pegged to America's, collapsed, and basics like food and clean water became utterly unaffordable.
In the West it is easy to see economic woes as an abstraction, as we, lucky as we are, are able to live in luxury through even the worst economic disaster. But for the nations that depend on us, this isn't the case.
Anyway... I gather I'm probably wandering to far into the abstract here. The facts on the ground are that Iraq seems to be facing a good year ahead of it in 2008, and honestly, I wish the best for the Iraqi people.
One of the reasons I've taken this long is that I'm not actually against the Iraq war, which is something many people find shocking, but meh. BUT MEH!
This wannae always the case, in 2003 I was adamantly opposed to the Iraq war - indeed, I was even interviewed by the BBC whilst on my way to the pre-War anti-War protests, and I said to the reporter lady, "if anything I do here can save a single human live, then it'd be worth it". Search it on the BBC News website, it may still be there somewhere... But yeah, at some point after the (Iraqi) general election I started to change my mind. I started to seek information about pre-War Iraq, it turned out that Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti was a genocidal bastard, and that he killed hundreds of thousands of his own people, but this campaign was stopped by the no-fly zones imposed by George Bush the Elder following the First Gulf War.
Ultimately I concluded that the Iraq War was a war intended to protect American hegemony. As, indeed, have many anti-War people. The difference is, I view this as a perfectly reasonable reason for war. Iraq, as it turns out, is (or rather, was), one of the most uniquely powerful states in the world. Iraq has one of the deciding votes on the OPEC (Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries) Council, OPEC was designed to be a body that acted in tandem to secure its own power as the virtual monopoly of oil production, and so, its own OPEC Council was designed as a body to determine when, and how much oil, should be delivered to the oil-hungry nations of the West, (indeed, the disastorous economic slump of the 1970s was caused by the (primarily Arab) nations of the OPEC decided to withdraw oil supply to the West). Before 2003, Iraq was preparing to do something much more damaging, they were preparing a coalition within the OPEC nations to overthrough the US Dollar as the primary currency of exchange within the oil market: a brief explanation: perhaps some of you have heard the term 'petrodollar' - this is because according to global law (as set down by OPEC), oil can only be bought and sold in US Dollars, so, if any nation wants to buy any oil, it has to transfer its own currency into USD before it can do so, likewise, if a nation wants to sell oil, they can oil accept prices in USD.
This gives the USA a great deal of power, as every industrialised economy in the world has to buy up their currency if they want to maintain their oil-hungry wealth producers. Iraq, pre-2003, being a nation in contempt of US power saught to transfer the sole petro-currency from the USD to the new, and quite dynamic, Euro. The Euro is unique within post-WWII history as being the only currency to pose any economic challenge to the the USD.
America would face a complete economic collapse if OPEC (if convinced by Iraq et co.) had switched the global oil-exchanging currency from the USD to the Euro, as every nation in the world would suddenly seek to sell back their vast reserves of USD, instantly devaluing the US economy.
(Such a scenario would be, in the short term, a real advantage to the Eurozone nations, and, it is worth noting, that, aside from Spain (being dominated by a single, post-Fascist party at the time), all Eurozone nations decided to oppose the Iraq War.)
So ultimately, yes, Iraq is a war in defence of American hegemony, both military, yet, more importantly, economically - the post-War Iraqi government was one of the most vocal proponents of maintaining the USD as the international currency of oil exchange.
But, however, even after this acheivement, (which probably helped secure the dominance of Western economies into this new millenium), has lead to great loss of life, (and I won't deny for a second that it has). The question is, that had Saddam had had his way, and dethroned the USD, likely many hundreds of thousands of people throughout the world would have faced starvation and destitution as their economies, so intricately pegged to America's, collapsed, and basics like food and clean water became utterly unaffordable.
In the West it is easy to see economic woes as an abstraction, as we, lucky as we are, are able to live in luxury through even the worst economic disaster. But for the nations that depend on us, this isn't the case.
Anyway... I gather I'm probably wandering to far into the abstract here. The facts on the ground are that Iraq seems to be facing a good year ahead of it in 2008, and honestly, I wish the best for the Iraqi people.
Tuesday 15 January 2008
Blog 42: Time for some Philosophy
Okay, now, I like caring about stuff. Caring about stuff has to be the second funnest activity there is - (next to not caring about stuff, of course), but there are some things that some people care about that I just completely refuse to sympathise with.
All this boils down to a single philosophical conviction that I carry: Nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing, has as much worth as a single human life. The reason I carry this conviction seems simple to me, even if perhaps it may not to others... Human life, it seems, is the only value that is able to assert its own value, unlike the value attached to animals, nations, beautiful environments, political ideologies, etc. which always need to have someone external to it to embed it with what they view it is its worth. Often they will attempt to suggest that this worth is somehow innate, despite the fact that recognition of this innate worth is sporadic, if not rare, throughout the human community, whereas recognition of human worth is near-universal.
The distinction I wish to make here is between the Cartesian 'I Think Therefore I Am' principle, which enables people to realise that they are worthy of protection from arbitrary oppression; and the entirely imagined worth which human beings attach to almost everything else in their immediate environment. Human beings are imagination-engines, as well as their production of carbon dioxide and waste carbohydrate, they produce in equal measures imagined values - to give one tragic example, throughout history millions of people within the civilised world have starved to death rather than to admit to themselves that the economic system that has deprived them of food is entirely a product of the collective imagination of their society. As the Poor starved to death, the Rich dined in luxury behind their gates, rather than seize what they need to survive, the Poor content themselves with their impending deaths while respecting the imagined economy that sustained them for a while but which, ultimately, betrayed them.
Now, I'm not saying imagined values are bad. Imagined values are what keeps a society together - as I suggested earlier, without imagined values, the human race would resort to murdering each other for scraps of food. But, I think a line has to be drawn. Drawn along the point in which these imagined values actually start to cause more net harm than they cause net good.
Where, exactly, this point lies is a matter of debate, and, indeed, it should be debated, passionately and often, throughout the world. For instance, perhaps the imagined value that we place of property rights condemns certain people to poverty, surely then, it is harmful and should be ignored? But on the other hand, the Rich are wealth creators, they are able to invest their significant surplus into projects that will return more wealth - at the end of the day, Wealth is an imaginary thing, often people take it too seriously and assume that it is a Real thing, and that if someone has it, then someone else doesn't have it!, but this is not so, it is imaginary, and within the rules of the economic make-believe game, it is possible for more than one person to possess the same unit of Wealth, whilst still owning all of the Wealth, (it doesn't have to make sense, remember, its all imaginary!) - so perhaps the Rich are doing a service by creating more wealth, which will eventually trickle down.
However, there are times when people obviously lose the plot. Recently I was watching Channel 4, specifically, a program entitled 'Hugh's Chicken Run', in which celebrity longnameman, I mean chef, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall experimented with managing an extensive chicken farm. Hugh was often moved to tears as the chickens he cared for were brutally exploited for their sole useful commodity, tasteh tasteh meatz - alongside this experiment, he convinced a community from 'the rough side of Axminster' to run their own free range chicken coop, these people insisted from the start that they were poor (I'm not giving these 'poor' the capital-P treatment, because no-one in the First World is truly 'Poor'), and couldn't afford fancy chicken, yet he pulled on their heartstrings and after the end of their Chickenxperiment, they had been converted into the fancy-chicken camp.
Hugh lauded this as a victory... but is it? In reality what has happened is that a millionaire TV personality has tricked a community into doubling their chicken budget, and thus reducing the amount of money they could spend on more self-beneficial things. I can't help but think that what he has done is produce a net harm to these human beings, who, after-all, unlike their chickens, can declare their own worth, and don't have to have it imaginarily imposed on top of them.
What Mr Fearnley-Whittingstall has done here, is view his own imagined values as being more important than the innate value that human beings are able to assert for themselves. In my opinion, this is fundamentally wrong, and now better than the dictator who views the 'survival of the nation' as being more important than the well-being of the individual citizens.
Now, I'm not saying that 'ethical' chicken is somehow evil - I'm a believer in choice, so if someone decides that they want to indulge their imagination by helping Mr Chicken live a happier live before being culled, then fine. But by forcing people to buy free range - which is Mr Fearnley-Whittingstall's ultimate goal, as, ideally, he wants intensive farming banned - you have crossed the line of individual choice into social manipulation.
Some may say that I am exaggerating the extent of this particular case, but honestly, it is worth considering what life was like before intensive meat (particularly poultry) farming was around. In the 1950s, in this country alone, hundreds of thousands of people died due to conditions that were due to a protein-deficient diet, seeing chicken is this nation's most popular meat, the advent of extensive chicken farming should probably be included in the top five reasons why the nation's life expectancy has nearly doubled over the past century! Honestly, is the welfare of a few birds, (of whom the debate still rages as to whether they even feel discomfort on the level us humans understand), really worth trading for this mammoth achievement?
Indeed, to digress, I believe the whole process of agriculturalism is travelling in the wrong direction within Western civilisation. For the past decade, there has been a kind of nostalgic mass hysteria striking the population, which has caused people to embrace the 'organic' food movement, or rather, the disindustrialised food movement. Its really convenient to live inside a beourgeois bubble, in which one views one's surroundings as being remarkable affluent, and as being able to afford luxury as a matter of course - but the world doesn't need more expensive, less productive agriculture! The global population is still growing, and, since last year, the majority of it lives within cities.
I'm an advocate of what is called Urban Agraculture. As opposed to Rural Agriculture, which has been the norm throughout all human civilisation, and, of course, suited perfectly, for as long as the human race was mostly rural... But now, that isn't the case - and to respond by ultra-ruralising Western agriculture seems fucking insane, (no doubt inspired by the hatred for one's common man fuelled by modern living, and the decision to rather embrace abstract imagined principles rather than human life). Today, there are still people in the world who are starving, but Western agricultural science is concentrating on REDUCING the efficiency of the agricultural process. If this doesn't piss you right the fuck off, then I will probably hate you. The fact that Dr Norman Borlaug isn't the most famous person in the world perhaps one of the greatest injustice's I've ever heard. Anyways, one of the best projects associated with the Urban Agriculture Movement is the Vertical Farm Project, a project that is by its own admission about as inorganic as you can get! The VFP plans to, once it gets its funding, build skyscrapers within the centre of the world's most built-up conurbations, and produce foodstuff with unflinching efficiency, and deliver it no more than a few dozen kilometres out from the production point. The food produced will, ideally, be strongly genetically modified, but its enclosed, closely controlled environment will reduce the need for almost all chemical additives. Truly, this is the future, rather than anything else proposed to reduce global agricultural efficiency and condemn the world to starvation after the ice caps melt and almost every outdoor agricultural facility in the world is royally fucked up.
All this boils down to a single philosophical conviction that I carry: Nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing, has as much worth as a single human life. The reason I carry this conviction seems simple to me, even if perhaps it may not to others... Human life, it seems, is the only value that is able to assert its own value, unlike the value attached to animals, nations, beautiful environments, political ideologies, etc. which always need to have someone external to it to embed it with what they view it is its worth. Often they will attempt to suggest that this worth is somehow innate, despite the fact that recognition of this innate worth is sporadic, if not rare, throughout the human community, whereas recognition of human worth is near-universal.
The distinction I wish to make here is between the Cartesian 'I Think Therefore I Am' principle, which enables people to realise that they are worthy of protection from arbitrary oppression; and the entirely imagined worth which human beings attach to almost everything else in their immediate environment. Human beings are imagination-engines, as well as their production of carbon dioxide and waste carbohydrate, they produce in equal measures imagined values - to give one tragic example, throughout history millions of people within the civilised world have starved to death rather than to admit to themselves that the economic system that has deprived them of food is entirely a product of the collective imagination of their society. As the Poor starved to death, the Rich dined in luxury behind their gates, rather than seize what they need to survive, the Poor content themselves with their impending deaths while respecting the imagined economy that sustained them for a while but which, ultimately, betrayed them.
Now, I'm not saying imagined values are bad. Imagined values are what keeps a society together - as I suggested earlier, without imagined values, the human race would resort to murdering each other for scraps of food. But, I think a line has to be drawn. Drawn along the point in which these imagined values actually start to cause more net harm than they cause net good.
Where, exactly, this point lies is a matter of debate, and, indeed, it should be debated, passionately and often, throughout the world. For instance, perhaps the imagined value that we place of property rights condemns certain people to poverty, surely then, it is harmful and should be ignored? But on the other hand, the Rich are wealth creators, they are able to invest their significant surplus into projects that will return more wealth - at the end of the day, Wealth is an imaginary thing, often people take it too seriously and assume that it is a Real thing, and that if someone has it, then someone else doesn't have it!, but this is not so, it is imaginary, and within the rules of the economic make-believe game, it is possible for more than one person to possess the same unit of Wealth, whilst still owning all of the Wealth, (it doesn't have to make sense, remember, its all imaginary!) - so perhaps the Rich are doing a service by creating more wealth, which will eventually trickle down.
However, there are times when people obviously lose the plot. Recently I was watching Channel 4, specifically, a program entitled 'Hugh's Chicken Run', in which celebrity longnameman, I mean chef, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall experimented with managing an extensive chicken farm. Hugh was often moved to tears as the chickens he cared for were brutally exploited for their sole useful commodity, tasteh tasteh meatz - alongside this experiment, he convinced a community from 'the rough side of Axminster' to run their own free range chicken coop, these people insisted from the start that they were poor (I'm not giving these 'poor' the capital-P treatment, because no-one in the First World is truly 'Poor'), and couldn't afford fancy chicken, yet he pulled on their heartstrings and after the end of their Chickenxperiment, they had been converted into the fancy-chicken camp.
Hugh lauded this as a victory... but is it? In reality what has happened is that a millionaire TV personality has tricked a community into doubling their chicken budget, and thus reducing the amount of money they could spend on more self-beneficial things. I can't help but think that what he has done is produce a net harm to these human beings, who, after-all, unlike their chickens, can declare their own worth, and don't have to have it imaginarily imposed on top of them.
What Mr Fearnley-Whittingstall has done here, is view his own imagined values as being more important than the innate value that human beings are able to assert for themselves. In my opinion, this is fundamentally wrong, and now better than the dictator who views the 'survival of the nation' as being more important than the well-being of the individual citizens.
Now, I'm not saying that 'ethical' chicken is somehow evil - I'm a believer in choice, so if someone decides that they want to indulge their imagination by helping Mr Chicken live a happier live before being culled, then fine. But by forcing people to buy free range - which is Mr Fearnley-Whittingstall's ultimate goal, as, ideally, he wants intensive farming banned - you have crossed the line of individual choice into social manipulation.
Some may say that I am exaggerating the extent of this particular case, but honestly, it is worth considering what life was like before intensive meat (particularly poultry) farming was around. In the 1950s, in this country alone, hundreds of thousands of people died due to conditions that were due to a protein-deficient diet, seeing chicken is this nation's most popular meat, the advent of extensive chicken farming should probably be included in the top five reasons why the nation's life expectancy has nearly doubled over the past century! Honestly, is the welfare of a few birds, (of whom the debate still rages as to whether they even feel discomfort on the level us humans understand), really worth trading for this mammoth achievement?
Indeed, to digress, I believe the whole process of agriculturalism is travelling in the wrong direction within Western civilisation. For the past decade, there has been a kind of nostalgic mass hysteria striking the population, which has caused people to embrace the 'organic' food movement, or rather, the disindustrialised food movement. Its really convenient to live inside a beourgeois bubble, in which one views one's surroundings as being remarkable affluent, and as being able to afford luxury as a matter of course - but the world doesn't need more expensive, less productive agriculture! The global population is still growing, and, since last year, the majority of it lives within cities.
I'm an advocate of what is called Urban Agraculture. As opposed to Rural Agriculture, which has been the norm throughout all human civilisation, and, of course, suited perfectly, for as long as the human race was mostly rural... But now, that isn't the case - and to respond by ultra-ruralising Western agriculture seems fucking insane, (no doubt inspired by the hatred for one's common man fuelled by modern living, and the decision to rather embrace abstract imagined principles rather than human life). Today, there are still people in the world who are starving, but Western agricultural science is concentrating on REDUCING the efficiency of the agricultural process. If this doesn't piss you right the fuck off, then I will probably hate you. The fact that Dr Norman Borlaug isn't the most famous person in the world perhaps one of the greatest injustice's I've ever heard. Anyways, one of the best projects associated with the Urban Agriculture Movement is the Vertical Farm Project, a project that is by its own admission about as inorganic as you can get! The VFP plans to, once it gets its funding, build skyscrapers within the centre of the world's most built-up conurbations, and produce foodstuff with unflinching efficiency, and deliver it no more than a few dozen kilometres out from the production point. The food produced will, ideally, be strongly genetically modified, but its enclosed, closely controlled environment will reduce the need for almost all chemical additives. Truly, this is the future, rather than anything else proposed to reduce global agricultural efficiency and condemn the world to starvation after the ice caps melt and almost every outdoor agricultural facility in the world is royally fucked up.
Monday 7 January 2008
I'm thinking of getting a tattoo...
Tattooing myself is something I've meant to do for a while, but I've never really had much of an idea of what I wouldn't actually mind having permenantly scared onto my flesh...
Until now, I thought a while ago, (like, a couple of weeks ago), that the Talking Wheelchair from the 'Sweet Cuppin' Cakes' cartoon-within-a-cartoon from Homestarrunner.com would be quite cool. And now, a couple of weeks later... I still think it would be quite cool, and less regretable than anything else I've yet considered.
I respect people with tattoos, or at least, tattoo-possession is one factor in the formula of whether or not I respect someone. I think its all well and good to claim to 'has a stylez', but its another thing entirely to subject yourself to hours of significant pain within an uncomfortable environment to make a tangible committment to the image of yourself you want to project. Like, a while ago, I heard something saying that the future of tattooing will be very different; that cloned skin grafts could be produced relatively cheaply, and that that graft could be tattooed before-hand and then simply laid onto your arm or wherever and just left to grow onto your body - and I thought, go on then, I'll wait until that becomes the norm and get myself as tattooed as I bloomin' 'ell want! But that would take away the self-sacrificial aspect of putting yourself through all the pain...
So yeah, thoughts? (I noticed the last two entries didn't get any comments, I don't write this jargle for my health, y'all know!)
Until now, I thought a while ago, (like, a couple of weeks ago), that the Talking Wheelchair from the 'Sweet Cuppin' Cakes' cartoon-within-a-cartoon from Homestarrunner.com would be quite cool. And now, a couple of weeks later... I still think it would be quite cool, and less regretable than anything else I've yet considered.
I respect people with tattoos, or at least, tattoo-possession is one factor in the formula of whether or not I respect someone. I think its all well and good to claim to 'has a stylez', but its another thing entirely to subject yourself to hours of significant pain within an uncomfortable environment to make a tangible committment to the image of yourself you want to project. Like, a while ago, I heard something saying that the future of tattooing will be very different; that cloned skin grafts could be produced relatively cheaply, and that that graft could be tattooed before-hand and then simply laid onto your arm or wherever and just left to grow onto your body - and I thought, go on then, I'll wait until that becomes the norm and get myself as tattooed as I bloomin' 'ell want! But that would take away the self-sacrificial aspect of putting yourself through all the pain...
So yeah, thoughts? (I noticed the last two entries didn't get any comments, I don't write this jargle for my health, y'all know!)
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