Christopher Hitchens, see above in his most natural and polemic position – behind the lectern, is someone that I admire greatly and has found as a constant source of inspiration and ideas. He has throat cancer and his own words: “In whatever kind of a “race” life may be, I have very abruptly become a finalist”
Below is my message to him as posted on Vanity Fair
Christopher,
You, with the help of Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris have caused a seismic shift my outlook on life. Your eloquent and sharp prose combined with your charismatic confidence has helped me out of the fog of delusion, smashed apart the self imposed bounds of serfdom and given me a prime example of how a mans mental strength can, and should flourish. For that I thank you.
I’ve recently finished reading Island by Aldous Huxley. I have to say from the outset that I’m a sucker for both Utopian and Dystopian novels. Two of my top 10 books are 1984 by George Orwell and Utopia by Thomas More. The corollary is that they can be extremely mediocre, as was Fugue For A Darkening Island by the unremarkable Christopher Priest. I must say I only bought it for its outstandingly kitsch front cover.
The reason behind the fascination with these two ideas is nothing intriguing. It’s innate to the human condition to not only imagine the perfect but also the ruinous. One almost seems impossible or at least lacks some definition without the existence of the other, which hints at one of the reasons I don’t believe in a Heaven – but that’s another story.
As the name suggests, the story is set on a tropical island where the people live fulfilling and peaceful lives, told through the eyes of a cynical journalist who is inextricably involved in the impending downfall of this little paradise.
The book treads a skilful line between novel and essay. At some points you feel like the reality of the dialog is compromised due to the author trying to massage an idea thoroughly but in most parts you are convinced that it is indeed how these people think and talk. Inevitably with Utopian and Dystopian novels the threshold of contextual description is larger than that of perhaps other types of novels. But if it’s done well, as in this case, description turns easily into experience.
His prose has an invigorating quality. The frankness of much of the characters dialog, most memorably of the children he first meets, gives a refreshing tone to the novel. The bon mots expose my lack of French and many other references are tragically lost due to my shallow knowledge of history. However, these were minor hiccups my enjoyment. The book will make you look at those in power with even more distrust and, if like me, reinforce that urge in the back of your head to get away while you can, live off the fat of the land and get soil under your fingernails.
Maybe I’ll start up a commune and call it ‘Alap’ in tribute…
Moved to tears by transistors, shivers of joy from lines of code, is it possible – it seems so. Emily Howell is a computer program written by David Cope, Dickerson Emeriti Professor at the University of California, Santa Cruz.
Listening to the music invokes a strange sensation. Irrespective of weather one thinks the music has merit, the sheer idea that something non-animal has composed something with a sense of flow, structure and rhythm is truly astounding. Is this not the exclusive domain of the hominid or the song bird?
The programmer has simply tapped into the same process that makes people good composers – our capacity to remember, both consciously and subconsciously an enormous database of sound and music and then combine them into new and 'original' compositions. By teaching the computer general ‘rules of thumb’ the computer essentially looks up snippets of music’s which traditionally follow one another and spits out something that is more often than not, better than what 99% of the general population could ever attempt.
Many people would find this idea a somewhat offensive suggestion but to me it’s a beautifully humbling one. This latest development in human inquiry builds upon the mountain of evidence bravely started by the Galileos of our early scientific history. It brings us one step closer to realising that We share some blood with Emily, being at heart and in mind essentially transistors and code. The similarities to the nerve synapse and DNA code is plain for all to see – it’s just that Emily when measured against us resembles something more like a humble bacterium. But, before you scoff at the thought and fall off your chair, does this make us any less special. No of course not. As Douglas Adams says “Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”
Apart from one of these indulgences, I would agree with Christopher Hitchens that indeed these objects and activities are overrated, perhaps not the “top four” as he suggests but none the less high up that long list. Stretch Limousines, foot spas, wedding dresses and bottled water would have to near the top of that rarefied list too.
It’s perhaps harder than one would think to find something which is popular but also has the faint scent of disappointment - as by definition something popular must obviously must also have genuine worth…?
I’ll finish this attempted aphoristic post with a few under rated things of life, give them a chance and think you’ll agree they’re probably undervalued; pissing in the shower, honey and butter, crisp morning sunrise and of course, ferrets.
It took far less will power than I had expected to delete my facebook account after only 6 months or so of operation. I was a late-comer and an-early leaver you might say to the ‘social phenomenon’ as they like to call it.
Many of my friends agree with many of my sentiments about facebook but have yet to make that leap. No doubt because whilst they might agree with some ideas of mine they just don’t swallow the whole argument.
Lists are very unimaginative but then again so too is facebook in many ways, so here’s the list of my arguments, in roughly order of importance.
I spend too many of my waking hours on a computer at work. Another reason to look at the brightly lit conduit of information was not what I needed.
Call me socially inept but I didn’t like the instant level of access people got to your social interactions with all your other friends just by the simple motion of clicking the‘add to friends’ button. The effusive guys at facebook failed to realise that most normal people have a spectrum of friends from best pal right through to acquaintances. This brings up the possibility of many wonderfully awkward scenarios. This is epitomised with the charming advent of ‘tagging’ where of course people take photos, some good, some indeed terrible and then place a tag on you so that all your other ‘friends’ can share and comment on your precious experience. It gets a little more interesting when you’ve pulled a sicky on Monday and your boss fails to appreciate the subtle hilarity of seeing you try to lick your own elbows in the early hours of Sunday morning at the Cross. It seems now that you can police you profile to limit access according to your own discretion, but really that’s just a bit too much effort and I just couldn’t deal with the shitty politics or underlying distrust that would inevitability occur when said individual finds out somehow that they’ve been ‘limited’.
When you do eventually see your beloved friend in 3D, I’ve often wondered what the die hard facebook addicts do…..? After all they should know everything about each other after trawling through the online 15 GB photo albums, wall posts that look like they have been on the wrong end of a blunderbuss and my favourite, the ‘status’ quote. You should now know; what she wore on her 4th day of her holiday to Fiji; what he thought of that guy when he said that thing about her; and how surprised he was when he produced a poo the size of a coke can. The list goes on. Technically you should have nothing to talk about. What fun is that now.
To understand a bit more of psychology of where I’m coming from, read Ben Elton’s fictional ‘Blind Faith’. Whilst it was not the trigger for my departure from facebook it sure acted as a catalyst. Happy reading.
Monday, July 12, 2010
It may seem hard to believe to many but this evening was the first time I set foot in a gym. In 26 years you’d think that I would’ve found some excuse to set foot into the musky, grunty theatre they call the gym.
Up until recently the idea of paying to sweat away indoors has grated against me. Surely, I’ve argued, you could easily get a similar work out from surfing, spearfishing or cycling and of course enjoy the activity immeasurably more. It hasn’t fitted into my world view of an idealistic healthy life - that being a life lived where you are able to seamlessly integrate all activities in life to contribute to a state of physical and mental health. I have to say that my experience at university came close in this instance.
It seems however that I have fallen for the reductionist version of physical health that the gym offers. Inevitably as one gets older you become more realistic in your ideals and you start to see the practicality in things like the gym. I work a 9 to 5 like most people and as such my weekends are precocious. Being at the right amount of physical strength and fitness is important to ensure that your strength and stamina will hold out when you travel up the coast for those two golden days where the surf is pumping, or when you decide to go on a hike through the national park to try and discover the antidote to the LCD screen, or when you save up all your leave to go on a snow board trip to Japan.
Essentially the gym increases the efficiency of your work out. You’d be hard pressed to find another activity that would give you the same effect with the same, dare I say it, convenience. So in essence it’s a compromise. Spend some time in a gym in the evenings when it’s dark anyways so you don’t get soft and stodgy for the weekend.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit to wanting a bit of shape and definition too. Who doesn’t like someone asking ‘You look good, you been working out?’ Take this vanity to the extreme and you’ll see why I’ve posted this photo. With no implied sarcasm I love this image. There is something about the combination of that Man, that pose, that scenery and those sunglasses that just screams…. well so many things.
Arnold Schwarzenegger by Annie Liebovitz, June 1997
If you are to believe Christopher Hitchens then irony is most important, more so than love… Now this got me thinking.
Following closely from the previous post where the purpose was to point out the irony, much to my own frustration I was not able to, when asked, define irony in such a way I was happy to accept. Ironic non?
I think it’s one of those rare words which most feel an intrinsic understanding for but similar to say the concept like love, find it hard to translate concisely into words. Of course it is easy to look up definitions; the Concise English Dictionary defines it as:
“an expression intended to convey the opposite to the literal meaning….”
However, as I think you’d agree this is perhaps a little one dimensional. It seems rather that one must capitulate and define irony by example. For the ocular feind amoung you I found this shot below. It was too sweet and innocent to pass by.
At great expense to my own sense of pride, I’ve saved the best example till last.
“Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.” – Oscar Wilde
My observant girlfriend spotted this vacant shop in Christchurch as we were travelling around the south island of NZ. I’m intrigued to know if the owners are aware of the profundity and are renting the space as an expensive joke, or is it just a happy coincidence that a shop which is all about the metaphysical just happens to be indeed vacuous - in every sense of the word.
At this very moment in time I'm the newest blogger on the face of the earth. I quite like that idea as I'll never be the oldest but just for this very moment at least I can claim the frivolous title of.... damn, too late.
I hope you can see the idea behind the title, it's an idea which will be hard work to live up to. But indulge me if you will.
