Before I die, I shall fly.
Mountain passes in the Himalayas are often named such: Zoji La, Nathu La, Khardung La, Rezang La, Gyong La, Marisimik La.
You'll notice the commonality. "La" in Tibetan means, literally, "higher" or "above". And high they are. Passes in the Himalayas are higher than actual mountain peaks elsewhere.
Khardung La is the highest motorable (motorable: in a manner of speaking) road in the world. It is at a height of nearly 18,000 ft. That is three and a half miles above sea level. That is insane.
I've driven a motorcycle in the mountains at half that height. You don't know what it means to be frozen until you do something that stupid. Trust me on this. We stopped at a ramshackle hut in the mountains that served tea (and hope). I've held a piping hot glass of tea, fresh from the stove, in my hand, without feeling a damn tendril of heat.
You had to be there.
Trust me, what you see in the video takes some doing.
And I will do it. If you can't do something noble, at least do something unusual, I always say. Before I die, I shall fly.
How do we see things?
"Come on, Sougata," you say. "Gimme a break."
Let's do a little experiment. Humor me.
Say you are blindfolded and stood in front of a large structure of some kind. Let's say the Washington monument, 'cause why not? Also, there is a barricade a few meters around, so you cannot touch the surface of the structure. I now ask you to judge where the edges of the monument are and therefore form a rough idea of the size of it. Sounds impossible, since I have deprived you of two of the senses you might ordinarily use to judge the shape and size of something: vision and touch.
No fair, you say.
Fine, here's some help. Ever so generous, I have decided to throw in an assistant who is carrying a bucket of tennis balls with him.
Stay with me.
The assistant cannot talk to you, but you can instruct him to throw the tennis balls one at a time at the structure at various orientations. So for example, you can say, "Minion, stand right in front of me and throw that sumbitch at the monument. And do it quick before the cops show up." Then you listen for the thud of the tennis ball as it bounces off the structure. Then you say, "Servant, step a foot to the right and throw another ball. Now a foot to the left." And each time you listen for the sound of the reflected ball. When the assistant goes far enough to the right and left so that the ball misses the structure and you don't hear the reflection, you've found the edges.
If you are with me so far, congratulations, because you have just understood how bats are able to see things in darkness. Bats aren't blind; they just have shitty real estate agents. "Here's a really dark cave. As you can see *snicker*, the previous owner took really good care of it."...is a line typically used by bat real-estate agents. Bats live and hunt in the dark, and instead of tennis balls, they use sound. They catch the reflection of that sound off cave walls and such. It is called echolocation, if you want to get all fancy about it, and it 'shore impresses the hell out of the lady bats, I can tell you that.
There are many ways to see.
We see the surface of the ocean floor--indeed, create detailed maps of it--by hitting it with sonar, i.e. sound waves. We measure distance to the moon by hitting it with radar and measuring the time it takes to bounce back. A large part of life is basically about hitting something with something else and seeing what happens. Just ask Mike Tyson.
Back to you. You take off your blindfold and look at the monument. Thank goodness I can now use my eyes, you say. No more tennis balls and no more assistants.
But hang on. Nothing has changed, really.
You are still using an assistant and you are still using tennis balls. Your new assistant is the sun and it is chucking little tennis balls called photons--particles of light--at the monument. Some of those little tennis balls are reflected back at you and you are catching them with your eyes instead of your ears. And some of those photons are missing the structure entirely and not being reflected back at you. And that is how you see things. A bunch of photons bouncing around and you catching those little buggers with your big dewy eyes.
Let's make this a little more complicated. Put those blindfolds back on. Now instead of the Washington monument, you have on the ground in front of you a tennis ball that you have to judge the dimensions of. Same rules. Same assistant. Same bucket of tennis balls. Easy, you say. I'll have the hired help throw the tennis balls in the bucket at the tennis ball on the ground and I'll have your answer in two seconds flat.
Not quite.
I know I sound dumb saying something so obvious, but when you throw a tennis ball at a tennis ball, you move the target tennis ball. Momentum, darling.
So how can you, blindfolded and such, be ever be able to tell where the edge of the target tennis ball is? How can you even know where exactly the target tennis ball has rolled to after being hit by...well...a tennis ball? You have to know where something actually is in the first place before you can even begin guessing at its edges and dimensions and such. You could wait for the thud of a hit and then the silence of a miss and then...er...blindly point at a random direction and go, "There, that's where the edge is." But you would only probably be right. Unlike the monument which doesn't move on being hit, the tennis ball does, and you have no way of knowing with certainty what the shape or size or location of the target tennis ball is.
Certainty. Focus on that word. We all like it. And as we shall see, none of us have it because there is no such thing.
Enter a dude named Heisenberg. And electrons.
See how I went smoothly from tennis balls to pop philosophy to physics. That's just how I roll, bitches.
Before I move on to the heavy stuff, there is an easy way to locate the tennis ball of course. Throw out the bucket of tennis balls and take off the blindfold and start using the sun and photons again. And hey presto, there it is. This works because photons are much much smaller than the tennis ball. When a photon collides with a tennis ball, the effect is pretty much the same to you as a tennis ball hitting the Washington monument.
Remember this: As a general rule, you can only "see" something by hitting it with something much smaller than the thing you are trying to see. With me? Good.
Let's dial this way down. Let's examine the matter of determining the size and shape of an electron. Electrons, as we know, are a fundamental particle. We are composed of, scientifically speaking, a bunch of electrons.
Same rules. Except let's ditch the blindfold this time, because you cannot see that electron with your naked eyes anyway. You decide to, wisely, skip the tennis balls and go directly to photons. The problem, as you are no doubt beginning to see (har!), is that you really cannot find anything smaller than an electron to hit the electron with. When you hit electrons with photons or other electrons, you change its position and you are back to having a hazy idea of where it is.
Remember that an electron is a fundamental particle that makes up you and everything around you. So can we tell at all where an electron is with certainty? Turns out the answer is "No."
This is the basis of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, which is a basic law of quantum mechanics/physics. The principle says that there is a limit to how accurately we can simultaneously determine the position and momentum of an electron.
What this means, in general terms is that the location of an electron is not a specific coordinate in space; it is a probability function. You can think of an electron being located in a fuzzy area--a probability cloud, if you will. An electron isn't a point in space, it is a smear.
But wait, quantum mechanics actually gets weirder. You see, this sort of quantum uncertainty as put forward by Heisenberg is just the beginning of a whole bunch of quantum weirdness.
For example, what if you punched a thick steel wall and your fist went right through the wall like butter? Quantum mechanics doesn't rule out the probability. Once you accept that the universe is ruled by probability, nothing is impossible really. Just improbable.
What if you kicked a soccer ball into the net and it split into two and took different paths to the goal. Scoring two goals with one kick. Gotta love that shit. Once again, this is possible. Just not very probable.
What if there was an exact duplicate of you sitting somewhere in the universe? Yup, that is not against the laws of physics. If the universe was larger, then the probability of two copies of you wouldn't be so much of a stretch, in fact.
Yes, you heard that right. The universe, which is goddamn HUGE, is too small for quantum effects to manifest themselves on a macro scale. The only reason you are yourself not a probability cloud, just like that electron, is because the universe is too small. If the universe was large enough, there would almost certainly be an exact duplicate of you somewhere. The probability of the exact configuration of particles that make up "you" occupying another spot in the universe would approach a value of one.
Make the universe even larger and there would certainly be multiple copies of you and I (and unfortunately, Kanye West).
Think about this a little bit. In the current universe, the answer to the question, "Where is Jimmy the Electron?" is a hesitant, "In many places at once." Or the more scientifically correct, "Fuck if we know."
In a large enough universe where you are to that universe, size-wise, as the electron is to you in the current universe, you would see quantum effects at a macro scale all the time. Just as the electron is smeared in a probability cloud around the nucleus in the picture above, you would be smeared all over that mega-universe and in many places at once. You would be Agent Smith.
Mind blown.
Like I said, quantum physics is weird. More on this next time.
Laters.
"Come on, Sougata," you say. "Gimme a break."
Let's do a little experiment. Humor me.
Say you are blindfolded and stood in front of a large structure of some kind. Let's say the Washington monument, 'cause why not? Also, there is a barricade a few meters around, so you cannot touch the surface of the structure. I now ask you to judge where the edges of the monument are and therefore form a rough idea of the size of it. Sounds impossible, since I have deprived you of two of the senses you might ordinarily use to judge the shape and size of something: vision and touch.
No fair, you say.
Fine, here's some help. Ever so generous, I have decided to throw in an assistant who is carrying a bucket of tennis balls with him.
Stay with me.
The assistant cannot talk to you, but you can instruct him to throw the tennis balls one at a time at the structure at various orientations. So for example, you can say, "Minion, stand right in front of me and throw that sumbitch at the monument. And do it quick before the cops show up." Then you listen for the thud of the tennis ball as it bounces off the structure. Then you say, "Servant, step a foot to the right and throw another ball. Now a foot to the left." And each time you listen for the sound of the reflected ball. When the assistant goes far enough to the right and left so that the ball misses the structure and you don't hear the reflection, you've found the edges.
If you are with me so far, congratulations, because you have just understood how bats are able to see things in darkness. Bats aren't blind; they just have shitty real estate agents. "Here's a really dark cave. As you can see *snicker*, the previous owner took really good care of it."...is a line typically used by bat real-estate agents. Bats live and hunt in the dark, and instead of tennis balls, they use sound. They catch the reflection of that sound off cave walls and such. It is called echolocation, if you want to get all fancy about it, and it 'shore impresses the hell out of the lady bats, I can tell you that.
There are many ways to see.
We see the surface of the ocean floor--indeed, create detailed maps of it--by hitting it with sonar, i.e. sound waves. We measure distance to the moon by hitting it with radar and measuring the time it takes to bounce back. A large part of life is basically about hitting something with something else and seeing what happens. Just ask Mike Tyson.
Back to you. You take off your blindfold and look at the monument. Thank goodness I can now use my eyes, you say. No more tennis balls and no more assistants.
But hang on. Nothing has changed, really.
You are still using an assistant and you are still using tennis balls. Your new assistant is the sun and it is chucking little tennis balls called photons--particles of light--at the monument. Some of those little tennis balls are reflected back at you and you are catching them with your eyes instead of your ears. And some of those photons are missing the structure entirely and not being reflected back at you. And that is how you see things. A bunch of photons bouncing around and you catching those little buggers with your big dewy eyes.
Let's make this a little more complicated. Put those blindfolds back on. Now instead of the Washington monument, you have on the ground in front of you a tennis ball that you have to judge the dimensions of. Same rules. Same assistant. Same bucket of tennis balls. Easy, you say. I'll have the hired help throw the tennis balls in the bucket at the tennis ball on the ground and I'll have your answer in two seconds flat.
Not quite.
I know I sound dumb saying something so obvious, but when you throw a tennis ball at a tennis ball, you move the target tennis ball. Momentum, darling.
So how can you, blindfolded and such, be ever be able to tell where the edge of the target tennis ball is? How can you even know where exactly the target tennis ball has rolled to after being hit by...well...a tennis ball? You have to know where something actually is in the first place before you can even begin guessing at its edges and dimensions and such. You could wait for the thud of a hit and then the silence of a miss and then...er...blindly point at a random direction and go, "There, that's where the edge is." But you would only probably be right. Unlike the monument which doesn't move on being hit, the tennis ball does, and you have no way of knowing with certainty what the shape or size or location of the target tennis ball is.
Certainty. Focus on that word. We all like it. And as we shall see, none of us have it because there is no such thing.
Enter a dude named Heisenberg. And electrons.
See how I went smoothly from tennis balls to pop philosophy to physics. That's just how I roll, bitches.
Before I move on to the heavy stuff, there is an easy way to locate the tennis ball of course. Throw out the bucket of tennis balls and take off the blindfold and start using the sun and photons again. And hey presto, there it is. This works because photons are much much smaller than the tennis ball. When a photon collides with a tennis ball, the effect is pretty much the same to you as a tennis ball hitting the Washington monument.
Remember this: As a general rule, you can only "see" something by hitting it with something much smaller than the thing you are trying to see. With me? Good.
Let's dial this way down. Let's examine the matter of determining the size and shape of an electron. Electrons, as we know, are a fundamental particle. We are composed of, scientifically speaking, a bunch of electrons.
Same rules. Except let's ditch the blindfold this time, because you cannot see that electron with your naked eyes anyway. You decide to, wisely, skip the tennis balls and go directly to photons. The problem, as you are no doubt beginning to see (har!), is that you really cannot find anything smaller than an electron to hit the electron with. When you hit electrons with photons or other electrons, you change its position and you are back to having a hazy idea of where it is.
Remember that an electron is a fundamental particle that makes up you and everything around you. So can we tell at all where an electron is with certainty? Turns out the answer is "No."
This is the basis of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, which is a basic law of quantum mechanics/physics. The principle says that there is a limit to how accurately we can simultaneously determine the position and momentum of an electron.
What this means, in general terms is that the location of an electron is not a specific coordinate in space; it is a probability function. You can think of an electron being located in a fuzzy area--a probability cloud, if you will. An electron isn't a point in space, it is a smear.
Here is the idea in pictures.
This is what we thought matter looked like. This is the Rutherford model: All nice and orderly with electrons orbiting the nucleus like little planets.
Not quite. This picture, below, is closer to reality.
That smear around the nucleus isn't a bunch of electrons; it is a *single* electron. Or rather, all the possibilities of where it might be. Are you getting the picture? In short, at the most fundamental level, we really don't know where the heck anything is at any given point in time. We can guess.
Werner Heisenbereg, who was an extremely smart man, put forward this idea. It created a great deal of consternation among other very smart men. Albert Einstein, for example, found it very difficult to accept the idea that the universe is fundamentally probabilistic. "God does not play dice with the universe." he famously said.
Einstein worked with large things at stellar scales. He theorized about intense gravitational fields and he predicted the existence of black holes. He redefined our view of space-time and he found structure at the grandest scales of the universe. But he found that his laws did not apply at the most basic level of matter and energy. His work dealing with the very large was contradicted by the laws of the very small.
But wait, quantum mechanics actually gets weirder. You see, this sort of quantum uncertainty as put forward by Heisenberg is just the beginning of a whole bunch of quantum weirdness.
For example, what if you punched a thick steel wall and your fist went right through the wall like butter? Quantum mechanics doesn't rule out the probability. Once you accept that the universe is ruled by probability, nothing is impossible really. Just improbable.
What if you kicked a soccer ball into the net and it split into two and took different paths to the goal. Scoring two goals with one kick. Gotta love that shit. Once again, this is possible. Just not very probable.
What if there was an exact duplicate of you sitting somewhere in the universe? Yup, that is not against the laws of physics. If the universe was larger, then the probability of two copies of you wouldn't be so much of a stretch, in fact.
Yes, you heard that right. The universe, which is goddamn HUGE, is too small for quantum effects to manifest themselves on a macro scale. The only reason you are yourself not a probability cloud, just like that electron, is because the universe is too small. If the universe was large enough, there would almost certainly be an exact duplicate of you somewhere. The probability of the exact configuration of particles that make up "you" occupying another spot in the universe would approach a value of one.
Make the universe even larger and there would certainly be multiple copies of you and I (and unfortunately, Kanye West).
Think about this a little bit. In the current universe, the answer to the question, "Where is Jimmy the Electron?" is a hesitant, "In many places at once." Or the more scientifically correct, "Fuck if we know."
In a large enough universe where you are to that universe, size-wise, as the electron is to you in the current universe, you would see quantum effects at a macro scale all the time. Just as the electron is smeared in a probability cloud around the nucleus in the picture above, you would be smeared all over that mega-universe and in many places at once. You would be Agent Smith.
Mind blown.
Like I said, quantum physics is weird. More on this next time.
Laters.
Language. Ahh, she's a funny thing. I like how words gradually change their connotation and become exactly what they were trying to avoid.
Perhaps this happens to humans too? We become what we are trying to avoid becoming. Gaze long enough into the abyss and it gazes back into you. Philosophy. Ahhh, she's a funny...
Back on topic.
Here's a lineage to consider: Mistake -> Bug -> Issue.
I am pretty sure when the first programmer made a mistake, his boss came up with a coffee-cup dangling from his talons and said, "Ummm...yeah, there's a mistake in your code."
Too direct. No one likes that word when applied to their work. So a new word was born that was meant to deflect the directness: bug.
"There's a bug in your code."
Sounded better.
For a while.
Then even that started to bite. It got tarnished by association.
So we invented yet another euphemism. Bug Tracking systems became Issue Tracking systems. No more: "Have you fixed that bug yet?" Nobody talks like that now. Now it is: "Have you looked into that issue yet?"
Now that we've used it long enough, the word "issue" itself has now become loaded. What used to be a bland and amorphous word now has specific meaning and has to be used carefully.
I leave you with this clip from the late incomparable George Carlin on the subject of euphemisms, delivering the message as only he can deliver it.
Perhaps this happens to humans too? We become what we are trying to avoid becoming. Gaze long enough into the abyss and it gazes back into you. Philosophy. Ahhh, she's a funny...
Back on topic.
Here's a lineage to consider: Mistake -> Bug -> Issue.
I am pretty sure when the first programmer made a mistake, his boss came up with a coffee-cup dangling from his talons and said, "Ummm...yeah, there's a mistake in your code."
Too direct. No one likes that word when applied to their work. So a new word was born that was meant to deflect the directness: bug.
"There's a bug in your code."
Sounded better.
For a while.
Then even that started to bite. It got tarnished by association.
So we invented yet another euphemism. Bug Tracking systems became Issue Tracking systems. No more: "Have you fixed that bug yet?" Nobody talks like that now. Now it is: "Have you looked into that issue yet?"
Now that we've used it long enough, the word "issue" itself has now become loaded. What used to be a bland and amorphous word now has specific meaning and has to be used carefully.
I leave you with this clip from the late incomparable George Carlin on the subject of euphemisms, delivering the message as only he can deliver it.
meta: Greek, meaning "beyond".
I think of it as "about". A meta-something is something about that something.
Hang on, I'm about to get less cryptic.
So for example, meta-data is data about data. You store a photo on flickr. That photo is data to flickr. But flickr also silently stores data about the data: its size, the time it was posted, so on. So, meta-data.
Say you want to improve your reading speed. You go out and buy a book on speed-reading. What are you doing? You are reading about reading. Very meta.
If you are a computer science geek, you know all about meta this and meta that. Programming: Writing a program that does stuff. Meta-programming: Writing a program that writes programs to do stuff. We've all done it. SQL that writes SQL? Been there.
Grammar is a meta-language, since it is a language that describes language. This particular example is even more interesting to me. Grammar describes English, and it is itself written in English. Since it is written in English, it must adhere to the rules of itself, otherwise we wouldn't understand it. Very very meta. Self-referential, even.
Cognition is the act of learning or knowing. So meta-cognition would be...you guessed it: learning about learning. I am doing it right now. I am reading a book about how we learn: Make it Stick, by Peter C. Brown.
More generally, it is a book about epistemology. Epistemology is the body of knowledge that tries to understand the nature of knowledge. So questions like: What is knowledge? How do we derive knowledge? And so on.
I came across this interesting example of meta-cognition in the book. Donald Rumsfeld, talking about Iraq in 2002, sums up meta-cognition thusly:
I think of it as "about". A meta-something is something about that something.
Hang on, I'm about to get less cryptic.
So for example, meta-data is data about data. You store a photo on flickr. That photo is data to flickr. But flickr also silently stores data about the data: its size, the time it was posted, so on. So, meta-data.
Say you want to improve your reading speed. You go out and buy a book on speed-reading. What are you doing? You are reading about reading. Very meta.
If you are a computer science geek, you know all about meta this and meta that. Programming: Writing a program that does stuff. Meta-programming: Writing a program that writes programs to do stuff. We've all done it. SQL that writes SQL? Been there.
Grammar is a meta-language, since it is a language that describes language. This particular example is even more interesting to me. Grammar describes English, and it is itself written in English. Since it is written in English, it must adhere to the rules of itself, otherwise we wouldn't understand it. Very very meta. Self-referential, even.
Cognition is the act of learning or knowing. So meta-cognition would be...you guessed it: learning about learning. I am doing it right now. I am reading a book about how we learn: Make it Stick, by Peter C. Brown.
More generally, it is a book about epistemology. Epistemology is the body of knowledge that tries to understand the nature of knowledge. So questions like: What is knowledge? How do we derive knowledge? And so on.
I came across this interesting example of meta-cognition in the book. Donald Rumsfeld, talking about Iraq in 2002, sums up meta-cognition thusly:
"There are known knowns; there are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns; that is to say, there are things that we now know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns—there are things we do not know we don’t know."
You hear this in the consulting business: When you are building the product, don't listen to your client. Listen to your client's client.
There is a similar idea in marketing. When you want to target a particular market, don't target the market. Target who they want to be.
A classic example is Marlboro. The Marlboro Man is an instantly recognizable marketing icon. Marlboro certainly isn't the largest selling brand of cigarettes in the world because it sells to the cowboy market. There are very few cowboys left; especially cowboys who look like that. The Marlboro Man exists because Philip Morris realized that selling to your inner cowboy is far more profitable than selling to you.
Cogito ergo sum.
I think, therefore I am.
Descartes said that. Rene Descartes laid the foundation of modern philosophy. Because he was badass like that.
Many people quote that line. They put that on T-shirts. But I do sometimes wonder about how many people actually think (har!) about what that sentence really means.
Here's the thinking (har!) behind that. Basically, Descartes said, you cannot trust anything. When it comes to deriving knowledge about something, you cannot trust anything. You cannot trust your senses. Senses can be deceived. Just watch a fucking magic show. So how do you know anything is real? How do you know that *you* are real? You perceive you through your senses and through the senses of others, all of which could be an elaborate cosmic deception. You cannot trust science because science uses instruments to establish reality. And those instruments are simply extensions of your already untrustworthy senses.
So how do you know that you exist?
By doubting, that is how. This is pure rationalism at work. When you doubt your existence, you establish your existence. Your doubt exists, therefore you exist. If you didn't really exist, you couldn't doubt your existence. Q. E. fucking D.
Still not with me? Go back to that magic show analogy and approach this from another angle. The only way you know that the magic is magic is by doubting it. If you didn't doubt the magic, it wouldn't be magic to you any more; it would be reality. And you would be wrong. (Which, by the way, is how all religions work). Now apply that line of thinking to the question of your existence and you immediately grok what the Big D was getting at.
I think, therefore I am.
Descartes said that. Rene Descartes laid the foundation of modern philosophy. Because he was badass like that.
Many people quote that line. They put that on T-shirts. But I do sometimes wonder about how many people actually think (har!) about what that sentence really means.
Here's the thinking (har!) behind that. Basically, Descartes said, you cannot trust anything. When it comes to deriving knowledge about something, you cannot trust anything. You cannot trust your senses. Senses can be deceived. Just watch a fucking magic show. So how do you know anything is real? How do you know that *you* are real? You perceive you through your senses and through the senses of others, all of which could be an elaborate cosmic deception. You cannot trust science because science uses instruments to establish reality. And those instruments are simply extensions of your already untrustworthy senses.
So how do you know that you exist?
By doubting, that is how. This is pure rationalism at work. When you doubt your existence, you establish your existence. Your doubt exists, therefore you exist. If you didn't really exist, you couldn't doubt your existence. Q. E. fucking D.
Still not with me? Go back to that magic show analogy and approach this from another angle. The only way you know that the magic is magic is by doubting it. If you didn't doubt the magic, it wouldn't be magic to you any more; it would be reality. And you would be wrong. (Which, by the way, is how all religions work). Now apply that line of thinking to the question of your existence and you immediately grok what the Big D was getting at.
Conversations with a Monkey, Part I
I am sitting with my five year old daughter and showing her a map of the world.
I point to the United States.
"This is where you were born, sweetie."
I point to India.
"This is where Deeda was born."
She scrunches up her face and thinks for a bit.
"We could drive there? No wait...we can't."
She thinks some more.
"I wish we had a water-car..."
I point to the United States.
"This is where you were born, sweetie."
I point to India.
"This is where Deeda was born."
She scrunches up her face and thinks for a bit.
"We could drive there? No wait...we can't."
She thinks some more.
"I wish we had a water-car..."
A while ago, I was at a Latin American Festival and listened to a band from Peru play on pan flutes. Two guitars and a pan flute. The Peruvians came up with the pan flute; it is an iconic instrument. I had never heard a pan flute before that, and it was an amazing and soulful listen. We talked to the band after the performance and learned that style of music is called Andina--music of the Andes.
Here is Sounds of Silence performed with pan flutes.
Here is Sounds of Silence performed with pan flutes.
I just got done watching the "Miller's Planet" scene from Interstellar for the hundredth time. Yes, I watched the giant tidal waves caused by the crushing gravitational field of Gargantua yet again, and the goosebumps wouldn't go away.
That movie, meaning Interstellar, vies for the top spot in my movie-going heart. It gets so many things right that it is startling, unexpected, and refreshing.
It gives us a sense of our place in the cosmos.
It gives us a sense of desolation and hope, at the same time.
It quotes Dylan Thomas.
It shows us a father looking at his daughter through the distorted mirror of dilated time.
And the score...oh, that music!
That movie makes me want to shed tears I didn't know I had to shed.
I know it is all entertainment at the end of the day, but there are people who watch movies like Intestellar and cry silently inside. There are people who watch True Grit (the reboot, of course) and marvel at how liquid poetry can masquerade as movie dialogue and be captured on film like that.
And then there are people who pay good money to watch Star Wars--a film where galactic idiots duel with colored flashlights and misshapen gremlins talk backwards.
Oh Humanity! Can't live with you, can't live without you.
It gives us a sense of our place in the cosmos.
It gives us a sense of desolation and hope, at the same time.
It quotes Dylan Thomas.
It shows us a father looking at his daughter through the distorted mirror of dilated time.
And the score...oh, that music!
That movie makes me want to shed tears I didn't know I had to shed.
I know it is all entertainment at the end of the day, but there are people who watch movies like Intestellar and cry silently inside. There are people who watch True Grit (the reboot, of course) and marvel at how liquid poetry can masquerade as movie dialogue and be captured on film like that.
And then there are people who pay good money to watch Star Wars--a film where galactic idiots duel with colored flashlights and misshapen gremlins talk backwards.
Oh Humanity! Can't live with you, can't live without you.
Ever since I saw the movie Interstellar, I have been curious about 4D geometry. Near the end of the movie, the dude finds himself trapped in a tesseract, which is a four-dimensional extension of a three-dimensional surface.
Thinking in four dimensions is very very tricky. We are three dimensional beings and our reality is bounded in three dimensions. Imagine a one-dimensional civilization that lives on a line and cannot see left or right or up or down. Only straight ahead and straight backwards. In other words, their reality is composed of points on that line. Now try explaining a square to these folks.
Similarly, a two-dimensional civilization that lives on a plane and cannot see up/down will be perfectly fine with squares, but will have a horrid time imagining a cube.
We humans, being more awesome than the 2D people, can see up/down. I am looking up right now, and...eeek...a spider...
Ahem...moving right along.
So we can see up and down. But that is where the awesomeness stops. Our perception is limited to three mutually perpendicular axes: X, Y, and Z. It is impossible to sketch a fourth axis that is mutually perpendicular to all three. Hint: don't even try.
To add to the confusion, some people will tell you that Time is the fourth dimension.
Four-dimensional objects have nothing at all to do with time. Here is how I try to visualize four-dimensional things. Like I said, this is very very tricky. I can barely get my mind around the idea.
Here is one way.
Take a square piece of paper. This is a two-dimesional object to you, for practical purposes. Now hold this piece of paper perfectly flat and parallel to the floor and near a wall. The shadow of this paper on the wall will be a line, if you are holding the paper perfectly flat. We can say that the projection of a two-dimensional object is a one-dimensional object. 'Cuz we fancy like dat.
Similarly, the projection of a three-dimensional object is a two-dimensional object. Like the shadow of a sphere on a floor, or the shadow of your head on a wall. See below.
Taking that further, a three-dimensional object is simply the shadow or projection of a four-dimensional object.
The implication of this line of thinking is profound. It means that every object around us is situated in four dimensions and what we are observing, touching, and interacting with are the three-dimensional shadows of these objects. That cellphone you are clutching is a shadow of the "real" cellphone in 4D space. Indeed we ourselves are shadows of our four-dimensional selves. If we ever encountered a more endowed civilization who can see in 4D, they would see us very, very, very differently from how we ourselves see us. And we would only see their shadows.
Also, why stop at four dimensions? There may be an infinite number of dimensions each projecting onto a lesser dimension. That four-dimensional cellphone that we cannot see in 4D space, but only touch the shadow of in 3D space, is itself a shadow of its five-dimensional self. Reality is a bloody hall of mirrors. Most of that hall...we are effectively blind to, except through mathematics and imagination. And even imagination fails us here. Or fails me at least. I can barely think about four dimensions. Thinking in five dimensions? Forget it.
This isn't pop science-fiction either. There is indeed real mathematics around this. Serious people have serious jobs working with this shit.
Bizarre, no?
Here is another way to visualize four dimensions that I find helpful.
Thinking in four dimensions is very very tricky. We are three dimensional beings and our reality is bounded in three dimensions. Imagine a one-dimensional civilization that lives on a line and cannot see left or right or up or down. Only straight ahead and straight backwards. In other words, their reality is composed of points on that line. Now try explaining a square to these folks.
Similarly, a two-dimensional civilization that lives on a plane and cannot see up/down will be perfectly fine with squares, but will have a horrid time imagining a cube.
We humans, being more awesome than the 2D people, can see up/down. I am looking up right now, and...eeek...a spider...
Ahem...moving right along.
So we can see up and down. But that is where the awesomeness stops. Our perception is limited to three mutually perpendicular axes: X, Y, and Z. It is impossible to sketch a fourth axis that is mutually perpendicular to all three. Hint: don't even try.
To add to the confusion, some people will tell you that Time is the fourth dimension.
Four-dimensional objects have nothing at all to do with time. Here is how I try to visualize four-dimensional things. Like I said, this is very very tricky. I can barely get my mind around the idea.
Here is one way.
Take a square piece of paper. This is a two-dimesional object to you, for practical purposes. Now hold this piece of paper perfectly flat and parallel to the floor and near a wall. The shadow of this paper on the wall will be a line, if you are holding the paper perfectly flat. We can say that the projection of a two-dimensional object is a one-dimensional object. 'Cuz we fancy like dat.
Similarly, the projection of a three-dimensional object is a two-dimensional object. Like the shadow of a sphere on a floor, or the shadow of your head on a wall. See below.
Taking that further, a three-dimensional object is simply the shadow or projection of a four-dimensional object.
The implication of this line of thinking is profound. It means that every object around us is situated in four dimensions and what we are observing, touching, and interacting with are the three-dimensional shadows of these objects. That cellphone you are clutching is a shadow of the "real" cellphone in 4D space. Indeed we ourselves are shadows of our four-dimensional selves. If we ever encountered a more endowed civilization who can see in 4D, they would see us very, very, very differently from how we ourselves see us. And we would only see their shadows.
Also, why stop at four dimensions? There may be an infinite number of dimensions each projecting onto a lesser dimension. That four-dimensional cellphone that we cannot see in 4D space, but only touch the shadow of in 3D space, is itself a shadow of its five-dimensional self. Reality is a bloody hall of mirrors. Most of that hall...we are effectively blind to, except through mathematics and imagination. And even imagination fails us here. Or fails me at least. I can barely think about four dimensions. Thinking in five dimensions? Forget it.
This isn't pop science-fiction either. There is indeed real mathematics around this. Serious people have serious jobs working with this shit.
Bizarre, no?
Here is another way to visualize four dimensions that I find helpful.
Wait, come back.
Imagine a perfectly flat and square piece of paper. It has four edges. So four lines make up the four faces of a square; you can think of it like that. A cube has six square faces. Generalizing that, we may say that every N-dimensional object has a certain number of (N-1)-dimensional faces.
So it goes that a four-dimensional object has eight three-dimensional faces. Now imagine an object with eight cubic faces, and you have just imagined a four-dimensional object.
Unhelpful Note: In case you are inclined to think so, this is not as easy as imagining a cube with eight other cubes hanging off it like geometrically perfect tumors. That is not a four-dimensional object.
Laters.
Imagine a perfectly flat and square piece of paper. It has four edges. So four lines make up the four faces of a square; you can think of it like that. A cube has six square faces. Generalizing that, we may say that every N-dimensional object has a certain number of (N-1)-dimensional faces.
So it goes that a four-dimensional object has eight three-dimensional faces. Now imagine an object with eight cubic faces, and you have just imagined a four-dimensional object.
Unhelpful Note: In case you are inclined to think so, this is not as easy as imagining a cube with eight other cubes hanging off it like geometrically perfect tumors. That is not a four-dimensional object.
Laters.
I have a weight loss tip. Completely free. Ready?
Go to the moon.
Ha, ha.
Oh, you wanted a practical tip?
But really, so many people say they want to lose weight. I know, we are shallow. But there is a small physics lesson here. Technically speaking, what people really want to lose is mass. Mass and weight are different.
Your mass is the same everywhere you go. I am simplifying a bit and pissing off Einstein's ghost, but just roll with me here. Your mass is the same everywhere you go. And it is this mass that you pay your gym membership for.
What about your weight? It is decided by mother Earth. Yes, that planet you always trusted...
See, unlike your mass, your weight actually depends on where you are. Particularly, how big the planet you are standing on, is. Your weight is tied to your planet's size through a simple and elegant mathematical equation.
Whoda thunk it?
(Er...Newton, that's who.)
Every planet has a number that represents its gravity. Bigger the planet, larger the number. Earth's is 9.8.
9.8 what? Doesn't matter. You can think of it as 9.8 kilo-candles or 9.8 cow-patties. Nobody cares. Units are kinda arbitrary anyway. A "meter" exists because we say so. It is all convention. There is no such thing in reality. Don't believe me? Look up the definition of a "meter". Go ahead. I'll wait.
So the earth's number is 9.8.
The moon's number is 1.6, since it is so widdle.
And the sun's number is a whopping 274.
It is this number that you have to multiply your mass by to arrive at your weight. So once again, your mass is constant. For all practical purposes. But to find your weight, you have to multiply.
On the sun, Twiggy would weigh like a motherfucker. On the moon, you could be Elvis Presley sitting in a vat of peanut butter and not give a damn, as long as nobody handed you a mirror.
Since our muscles are uniquely adapted to earth's number, we can do some strange things when on the moon. Like jump about six or seven feet straight into the air. Our muscles are suddenly much stronger, having had to "fight" earth's number all our lives (every time we walk or so much as raise a finger, we are fighting earth's number). So we sneeze at the moon's number when visiting there.
If there were moon-people and if they ever got uppity with the earth people and started a war, they would be so weak compared to us, we could simply slap them to a bloody pulp.
So they better not start a war, wherever they are hiding.
Er...bye now.
Now for the boring bits. All this stuff above about mass and weight boils down to Newton's Second Law, one of the most important derivations in physics: Force = Mass x Acceleration (due to gravity)
Or, in short: F = ma
Your weight is a downward force acting on the planet. You arrive at it by multiplying your mass by the planet's gravity. The "downward" bit is important since force is a vector quantity, having the same direction as the acceleration due to gravity. Never, ever, mix up your scalars and vectors. Your physics will be all wrong and this will make the sun-people very very mad. And they are very very strong.
Go to the moon.
Ha, ha.
Oh, you wanted a practical tip?
But really, so many people say they want to lose weight. I know, we are shallow. But there is a small physics lesson here. Technically speaking, what people really want to lose is mass. Mass and weight are different.
Your mass is the same everywhere you go. I am simplifying a bit and pissing off Einstein's ghost, but just roll with me here. Your mass is the same everywhere you go. And it is this mass that you pay your gym membership for.
What about your weight? It is decided by mother Earth. Yes, that planet you always trusted...
See, unlike your mass, your weight actually depends on where you are. Particularly, how big the planet you are standing on, is. Your weight is tied to your planet's size through a simple and elegant mathematical equation.
Whoda thunk it?
(Er...Newton, that's who.)
Every planet has a number that represents its gravity. Bigger the planet, larger the number. Earth's is 9.8.
9.8 what? Doesn't matter. You can think of it as 9.8 kilo-candles or 9.8 cow-patties. Nobody cares. Units are kinda arbitrary anyway. A "meter" exists because we say so. It is all convention. There is no such thing in reality. Don't believe me? Look up the definition of a "meter". Go ahead. I'll wait.
So the earth's number is 9.8.
The moon's number is 1.6, since it is so widdle.
And the sun's number is a whopping 274.
It is this number that you have to multiply your mass by to arrive at your weight. So once again, your mass is constant. For all practical purposes. But to find your weight, you have to multiply.
On the sun, Twiggy would weigh like a motherfucker. On the moon, you could be Elvis Presley sitting in a vat of peanut butter and not give a damn, as long as nobody handed you a mirror.
Since our muscles are uniquely adapted to earth's number, we can do some strange things when on the moon. Like jump about six or seven feet straight into the air. Our muscles are suddenly much stronger, having had to "fight" earth's number all our lives (every time we walk or so much as raise a finger, we are fighting earth's number). So we sneeze at the moon's number when visiting there.
If there were moon-people and if they ever got uppity with the earth people and started a war, they would be so weak compared to us, we could simply slap them to a bloody pulp.
So they better not start a war, wherever they are hiding.
Er...bye now.
Now for the boring bits. All this stuff above about mass and weight boils down to Newton's Second Law, one of the most important derivations in physics: Force = Mass x Acceleration (due to gravity)
Or, in short: F = ma
Your weight is a downward force acting on the planet. You arrive at it by multiplying your mass by the planet's gravity. The "downward" bit is important since force is a vector quantity, having the same direction as the acceleration due to gravity. Never, ever, mix up your scalars and vectors. Your physics will be all wrong and this will make the sun-people very very mad. And they are very very strong.
How fragile are we?
Very.
There is a very, very tiny corner of the Universe in which we humans can live in comfort. Or live at all, really.
So let's talk about the Universe a little bit. The Universe, my daughter, is a big place. Tremendous, stupefying, mind-numbing big. Just how big it is, is a topic for another time, but trust me that it is bigger than anything you've seen. It's bigger than that elephant we saw at the zoo, it's bigger than our house, it's bigger than Deeda's car, it's bigger than even Deeda. It was pretty close for a while, but then the Universe had a late growth spurt, and I didn't. [If we were to split hairs, that is actually quite true; at one point, the Universe wasn't just smaller than Deeda, it was smaller than even you...all compressed into an infinitely dense point that we, rather weakly I think, call a "singularity".]
But to get things rolling, here's a sense of scale. Look at the picture below.
That is a picture of Earth taken by the Voyager space probe from within our own solar system, just beyond the orbit of Pluto. There floating on a beam of sunlight, you see our home, the size of a pixel in that photograph. The radio signals that carried that photograph back to Earth traveled for five and a half hours at the speed of light to give us that perspective of our place in the cosmos.
One more picture.
See that blue glow around our planet? That is our atmosphere. That thin skin around our planet is what gives us life and protects us from deep space. And even within that layer, we cannot live comfortably everywhere. We need a very narrow range of temperature and pressure. Too much sunlight and radiation and we are...toast. We are like Goldilocks; things have to just right. Deserts and tall mountains won't cut it. Deep sea, nuh-uh. Too far to the right or left of California weather, and our numbers dwindle rapidly. You wouldn't think like that when cooling off by the A/C or soaking in the July sun, but when it comes to livable conditions, clemency is the exception. Hostility is the norm.
That is why I say we are so very fragile. And perhaps astronomically lucky to be here, walking around in that thin layer of breathable gases on a bit of space-dust that we call Earth. Surrounded literally everywhere by an incredibly inhospitable Universe. So remember that and try to be nice to everybody who shares this bit of luck with you.
So we are a bit of a wuss-out, for sure, when it comes to being a species. Who's tough? What animal on this planet do you think is better suited than us to tackle all this sucktitude the Universe is chucking at us?
Meet Mr. Tardigrade. Or more cutely known as the water bear. Believe me, this is the least scary picture I could find of him on the Internet.
That little guy--grows to about a millimeter--is tough. Super tough. If we were a tenth as tough as him, we would get our swag on and give the Universe the smackdown it so deserves. He is what is conversationally called an extremeophile ("loves extreme conditions"). Try using that in a conversation next time.
If you check out his eHarmony profile (or wikipedia entry), you would notice that he says:
1. Athletic build.
2. Agnostic.
3. Willing to live in almost absolute zero temperature to well above boiling point of water.
4. Can survive pressures six times higher than the deepest ocean trenches.
5. Can go for over 10 years without food or water (but loves a good mug of stout).
6. Can suck down hundreds time more radiation than would kill a human. (eat your heart out, Dr. Bruce Banner).
7. Smokes: Socially.
So there you have it. The original Quiet Man, the John Wayne of Nature. Beware his tiny fists.
There is a very, very tiny corner of the Universe in which we humans can live in comfort. Or live at all, really.
So let's talk about the Universe a little bit. The Universe, my daughter, is a big place. Tremendous, stupefying, mind-numbing big. Just how big it is, is a topic for another time, but trust me that it is bigger than anything you've seen. It's bigger than that elephant we saw at the zoo, it's bigger than our house, it's bigger than Deeda's car, it's bigger than even Deeda. It was pretty close for a while, but then the Universe had a late growth spurt, and I didn't. [If we were to split hairs, that is actually quite true; at one point, the Universe wasn't just smaller than Deeda, it was smaller than even you...all compressed into an infinitely dense point that we, rather weakly I think, call a "singularity".]
But to get things rolling, here's a sense of scale. Look at the picture below.
That is a picture of Earth taken by the Voyager space probe from within our own solar system, just beyond the orbit of Pluto. There floating on a beam of sunlight, you see our home, the size of a pixel in that photograph. The radio signals that carried that photograph back to Earth traveled for five and a half hours at the speed of light to give us that perspective of our place in the cosmos.
One more picture.
See that blue glow around our planet? That is our atmosphere. That thin skin around our planet is what gives us life and protects us from deep space. And even within that layer, we cannot live comfortably everywhere. We need a very narrow range of temperature and pressure. Too much sunlight and radiation and we are...toast. We are like Goldilocks; things have to just right. Deserts and tall mountains won't cut it. Deep sea, nuh-uh. Too far to the right or left of California weather, and our numbers dwindle rapidly. You wouldn't think like that when cooling off by the A/C or soaking in the July sun, but when it comes to livable conditions, clemency is the exception. Hostility is the norm.
That is why I say we are so very fragile. And perhaps astronomically lucky to be here, walking around in that thin layer of breathable gases on a bit of space-dust that we call Earth. Surrounded literally everywhere by an incredibly inhospitable Universe. So remember that and try to be nice to everybody who shares this bit of luck with you.
So we are a bit of a wuss-out, for sure, when it comes to being a species. Who's tough? What animal on this planet do you think is better suited than us to tackle all this sucktitude the Universe is chucking at us?
Meet Mr. Tardigrade. Or more cutely known as the water bear. Believe me, this is the least scary picture I could find of him on the Internet.
That little guy--grows to about a millimeter--is tough. Super tough. If we were a tenth as tough as him, we would get our swag on and give the Universe the smackdown it so deserves. He is what is conversationally called an extremeophile ("loves extreme conditions"). Try using that in a conversation next time.
If you check out his eHarmony profile (or wikipedia entry), you would notice that he says:
1. Athletic build.
2. Agnostic.
3. Willing to live in almost absolute zero temperature to well above boiling point of water.
4. Can survive pressures six times higher than the deepest ocean trenches.
5. Can go for over 10 years without food or water (but loves a good mug of stout).
6. Can suck down hundreds time more radiation than would kill a human. (eat your heart out, Dr. Bruce Banner).
7. Smokes: Socially.
So there you have it. The original Quiet Man, the John Wayne of Nature. Beware his tiny fists.
And in the end on dreams we will depend
The Blue Angels is the US Navy's show-flying team. The video is incredible; what it takes to fly like that. The job has a 10% fatality rate. You have a better chance of surviving an average war.
I am teaching my five-year old to say "please" and "thank you". I don't want her being perceived as rude. The culture that surrounds her puts great stock in those words and we simply bend to the environment.
I grew up in a culture that did not say "please" or "thank you". There isn't a word for "please" in Bangla. The word for "thank you" is stiff and formal and I barely recall anyone using it in casual conversation. This doesn't mean that we were taught to be impolite or ungrateful. Politeness was expressed with tone and body language. Gratitude was implied and everybody understood this; nobody felt taken advantage of.
I remember hearing someone express this quite well, "When someone is very close to you, you consider that person to be a part of yourself. Do you thank yourself for doing something nice for yourself?"
This is also the case with the words "I love you." My parents had...have, the most wonderful and solid relationship I have ever seen. I have never heard my mother tell my father that she loved him because I guess she didn't have to. He knew.
Here's a little story. My mother was a ballsy woman who went against the wishes of her family to marry my father. This was not as easy it sounds, today. This was a different and unforgiving generation. She had to leave home, with no income, and trust that my father would do the right thing. Her family, including two brothers, were very traditional and put up every roadblock they could manage and she was but a wee young woman.
So one day, many many years later, my youngest sister was in a listening mood and asked my mother what that was like. "Tell me the gory details, Mom. What was it like? How did you manage it? Weren't you afraid?"
I will always remember my mother's reply. She said, "Yes, I was very afraid. But I loved your father more than I was scared of my father."
Ka-zing.
End of story.
I grew up in a culture that did not say "please" or "thank you". There isn't a word for "please" in Bangla. The word for "thank you" is stiff and formal and I barely recall anyone using it in casual conversation. This doesn't mean that we were taught to be impolite or ungrateful. Politeness was expressed with tone and body language. Gratitude was implied and everybody understood this; nobody felt taken advantage of.
I remember hearing someone express this quite well, "When someone is very close to you, you consider that person to be a part of yourself. Do you thank yourself for doing something nice for yourself?"
This is also the case with the words "I love you." My parents had...have, the most wonderful and solid relationship I have ever seen. I have never heard my mother tell my father that she loved him because I guess she didn't have to. He knew.
Here's a little story. My mother was a ballsy woman who went against the wishes of her family to marry my father. This was not as easy it sounds, today. This was a different and unforgiving generation. She had to leave home, with no income, and trust that my father would do the right thing. Her family, including two brothers, were very traditional and put up every roadblock they could manage and she was but a wee young woman.
So one day, many many years later, my youngest sister was in a listening mood and asked my mother what that was like. "Tell me the gory details, Mom. What was it like? How did you manage it? Weren't you afraid?"
I will always remember my mother's reply. She said, "Yes, I was very afraid. But I loved your father more than I was scared of my father."
Ka-zing.
End of story.
Even very clever guys can be very wrong about things until hindsight catches up to them.
[Aside: This, by the way, is a great source of comfort to guys like me, who are not so clever. It allows us to go, "Nyah". Schadenfreude.]
Ptolemy was an ancient astronomer. And a geographer. And a mathematician. And a poet. He was smart. He was one of the smartest men of his time. Many who came later stood on his shoulders.
He also believed that the sun and the planets went around the earth.
Today we call this the geocentric theory and laugh at it. Those days, they simply called it the truth.
To those bearded astronomers of yore, Earth was the Kanye West of planets. Standing in the middle, refusing to give up the mike, while the others planets hovered.
But, like I said, hindsight catches up. The first glitch that had people scratching their heads is the retrograde motion of the planets that supposedly revolved around the earth.
What is retrograde motion? OK, so grab a friend. And ask her to start walking around you in a circle. Tell her it is for science. As long as she keeps walking, she will always appear (to you) to be going in the same direction.
The same thing should happen to, say, Jupiter, If Jupiter revolves around Earth, then Jupiter should always appear--to someone on earth--to move in one single direction. Like any well-behaved planet should. But strangely enough to the ancient astronomers, Jupiter sometimes seemed to back up suddenly and start moving in the opposite direction in the night sky. This is retrograde motion.
And they couldn't explain it. The theory didn't fit.
Did Jupiter, like, suddenly go, "Oh wait, I think I left the gas on." and start scooting backwards? Well, planets are pretty darn big and look like a determined lot who don't change their minds often. So there had to be another explanation.
So quick, grab your friend again. Explain to her that, yes, the medications are still working and this is still a science experiment, and then both you and her starting walking around the kitchen table in the same direction.
A few steps into the lap, look over at your friend. She will appear to be moving in the same direction as you, as agreed. Now let's say that you are slightly faster than your friend. Eventually, you will "lap" her. At the moment that you pass her, she will appear to be moving backwards. This is retrograde motion.
That kitchen table is, of course, the sun. And Earth and Jupiter both revolve around the sun. Earth goes around the sun quicker, because of the smaller orbit. Jupiter loses this "race" sometimes and gets lapped and appears to move backwards.
The heliocentric theory explained retrograde motion. The geocentric theory was ditched.
This is science. Clever men proposing clever ideas that other clever men overturn.
Fact: Ptolemy's geocentric theory was dominant for 1400 years. You read that right. One and a half centuries before it got a proper burial, when Nicolaus Copernicus proposed the heliocentric theory.
Tamaso ma Jyotir gamayo (From darkness, lead us to light)
Asad ma Sad gamayo (From ignorance, lead us to truth)
[Aside: This, by the way, is a great source of comfort to guys like me, who are not so clever. It allows us to go, "Nyah". Schadenfreude.]
Ptolemy was an ancient astronomer. And a geographer. And a mathematician. And a poet. He was smart. He was one of the smartest men of his time. Many who came later stood on his shoulders.
He also believed that the sun and the planets went around the earth.
Today we call this the geocentric theory and laugh at it. Those days, they simply called it the truth.
To those bearded astronomers of yore, Earth was the Kanye West of planets. Standing in the middle, refusing to give up the mike, while the others planets hovered.
But, like I said, hindsight catches up. The first glitch that had people scratching their heads is the retrograde motion of the planets that supposedly revolved around the earth.
What is retrograde motion? OK, so grab a friend. And ask her to start walking around you in a circle. Tell her it is for science. As long as she keeps walking, she will always appear (to you) to be going in the same direction.
The same thing should happen to, say, Jupiter, If Jupiter revolves around Earth, then Jupiter should always appear--to someone on earth--to move in one single direction. Like any well-behaved planet should. But strangely enough to the ancient astronomers, Jupiter sometimes seemed to back up suddenly and start moving in the opposite direction in the night sky. This is retrograde motion.
And they couldn't explain it. The theory didn't fit.
Did Jupiter, like, suddenly go, "Oh wait, I think I left the gas on." and start scooting backwards? Well, planets are pretty darn big and look like a determined lot who don't change their minds often. So there had to be another explanation.
So quick, grab your friend again. Explain to her that, yes, the medications are still working and this is still a science experiment, and then both you and her starting walking around the kitchen table in the same direction.
A few steps into the lap, look over at your friend. She will appear to be moving in the same direction as you, as agreed. Now let's say that you are slightly faster than your friend. Eventually, you will "lap" her. At the moment that you pass her, she will appear to be moving backwards. This is retrograde motion.
That kitchen table is, of course, the sun. And Earth and Jupiter both revolve around the sun. Earth goes around the sun quicker, because of the smaller orbit. Jupiter loses this "race" sometimes and gets lapped and appears to move backwards.
The heliocentric theory explained retrograde motion. The geocentric theory was ditched.
This is science. Clever men proposing clever ideas that other clever men overturn.
Fact: Ptolemy's geocentric theory was dominant for 1400 years. You read that right. One and a half centuries before it got a proper burial, when Nicolaus Copernicus proposed the heliocentric theory.
Tamaso ma Jyotir gamayo (From darkness, lead us to light)
Asad ma Sad gamayo (From ignorance, lead us to truth)
So let's say you have invented something wacky and wondrous. Obviously you have smarts. But what else do you need before the money and fame starts rolling in?
You may have heard in marketing circles that the customer is always right. If you've invented something truly disruptive, throw that sentiment out the window. Henry Ford said, "If I had asked my customers what they wanted, they would have said a faster horse."
"You live until the last person who remembers you dies."
I came across that line a couple of days ago. I like that. It makes sense. That line makes people like Newton, Jenner, and Turing damn near immortal. If you have ever wondered what afterlife is, that sentence above sums it up neatly.
I plan to write something on this blog every week. Mostly, it will be some bit of knowledge I've picked up. I hope to make it interesting.
There are lines that you carry with you from childhood to dotage. Matthew Arnold's Dover Beach fits that bill for me. There is beauty in that despair. And there is a ringing appeal to love, charity and humanity in that struggle. At least that is how I see it. Pretty much sums up the human condition.
Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
A three-chord symphony crashes into space
The moon is hanging upside down
I don't know why I'm still on the case
It's a ravenous town
And you still refuse to be traced
Seems to me such a waste
And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
And it's your face I'm looking for, on every street.On Every Street, Dire Straits
Wind by the Fireside - NWN
So as you shiver in the cold and the dark
look into the fire and see in its spark -
my eye
watching over you.
As you walk in the wind's whistling claws,
listen past the howling of the wolf's
jaws.
my song
comes to you.
And when you're lost in the trackless snow,
look up high where the eagles go.
My star
shines for you.
In deep, dark mine or on crumbling peak
hear the words of love I speak.
My thoughts
are with you.
You are not forsaken.
You are not forgotten.
The North cannot swallow you.
The snows cannot bury you.
I will come for you.
Faerun will grow warmer,
and the gods will smile
but oh, my love, guard yourself well -
all this may not happen for a long, long
while.
So as you shiver in the cold and the dark
look into the fire and see in its spark -
my eye
watching over you.
As you walk in the wind's whistling claws,
listen past the howling of the wolf's
jaws.
my song
comes to you.
And when you're lost in the trackless snow,
look up high where the eagles go.
My star
shines for you.
In deep, dark mine or on crumbling peak
hear the words of love I speak.
My thoughts
are with you.
You are not forsaken.
You are not forgotten.
The North cannot swallow you.
The snows cannot bury you.
I will come for you.
Faerun will grow warmer,
and the gods will smile
but oh, my love, guard yourself well -
all this may not happen for a long, long
while.
They say that with time comes maturity.
Not very long ago, I used to get into these rousing Internet fights. I know, I know, I was a Macho Internet Guy. It would usually be someone attacking an idea I liked or someone attacking someone who liked an idea I liked and there I would go again--sound and fury would abound. And these would be long drawn out affairs, ending only when one party got tired of coming up with creative ideas to get intimate with the other party's mother.
Nowadays, when I see something that would have irked me no end in the past and started a prolonged flame war, I cluck to myself gently and move on.
They say that with time comes maturity.
Fuck that.
Just because you are older does not mean that the milk of human kindness is suddenly sloshing around inside of you; I am still the cunt I was.
Just because you are older does not mean that the number of other cunts that crawl the planet has dwindled in number. So what gives? Why this inner peace?
They say with time comes maturity. This is not true. That is not why you stop. You stop because with time comes the realization that you have less time.
Not very long ago, I used to get into these rousing Internet fights. I know, I know, I was a Macho Internet Guy. It would usually be someone attacking an idea I liked or someone attacking someone who liked an idea I liked and there I would go again--sound and fury would abound. And these would be long drawn out affairs, ending only when one party got tired of coming up with creative ideas to get intimate with the other party's mother.
Nowadays, when I see something that would have irked me no end in the past and started a prolonged flame war, I cluck to myself gently and move on.
They say that with time comes maturity.
Fuck that.
Just because you are older does not mean that the milk of human kindness is suddenly sloshing around inside of you; I am still the cunt I was.
Just because you are older does not mean that the number of other cunts that crawl the planet has dwindled in number. So what gives? Why this inner peace?
They say with time comes maturity. This is not true. That is not why you stop. You stop because with time comes the realization that you have less time.
Try to tell someone this once in your life before it's too late.
The link.
(Click on the link and play the video, jackass.)
The link.
(Click on the link and play the video, jackass.)
Tears in Rain
I've... seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate... All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.
The lessons that life dispenses can be slightly counter-intuitive. One such lesson is that many otherwise very good things can be valueless, when they are given too freely.
Laughter is one such thing. People who laugh readily would seem to be desirable to be around. In reality, they are idiots who are annoying as heck. Situation: An evening in a bar with a lady. You say something witty. She laughs. You are pleased as punch. I'm so clever, you think. A few minutes later, you say something completely moronic and humorless that only an idiot would find funny. She laughs. QED.
Friendship fits the bill too. People with a zillion good friends might seem, well, friendly, but they are also undiscerning cretins. I personally can't stand them. Their friendship is completely valueless because it is given so charitably. Not because they are faking it. They are not. But no matter how sincerely given, it is still valueless.
Personally, I like reserved people. Not shy. Shy is different. I like reserved people because they respect themselves, their time, their feelings, and their thoughts. Being reserved usually means they are reserving it, whatever "it" is, for the right someone or the right something. That is something worth winning.
Laughter is one such thing. People who laugh readily would seem to be desirable to be around. In reality, they are idiots who are annoying as heck. Situation: An evening in a bar with a lady. You say something witty. She laughs. You are pleased as punch. I'm so clever, you think. A few minutes later, you say something completely moronic and humorless that only an idiot would find funny. She laughs. QED.
Friendship fits the bill too. People with a zillion good friends might seem, well, friendly, but they are also undiscerning cretins. I personally can't stand them. Their friendship is completely valueless because it is given so charitably. Not because they are faking it. They are not. But no matter how sincerely given, it is still valueless.
Personally, I like reserved people. Not shy. Shy is different. I like reserved people because they respect themselves, their time, their feelings, and their thoughts. Being reserved usually means they are reserving it, whatever "it" is, for the right someone or the right something. That is something worth winning.
Dadagiri, Indian-ishtyle
This seems old, but someone forwarded this link to me and it was surprisingly painful to watch: http://www.metacafe.com/watch/4972020/how_can_she_slap/
The facts of the case seem to be this: There is or was a show called Dadagiri on some no-name Indian cable channel. This show is the Indian version of Fear Factor, with a dash of Jerry Springer thrown in. (One might even say, a soupçon of Jerry Springer thrown in. I am tempted to use use classy words here, because this is a very classy show.)
The show takes four college kids and puts them up against three different kinds of bullies. If you survive all three, you get a pile of cash for your trouble. First, a big hairy guy gives them physical challenges. Then a nerdy type asks them geeky questions. Then a harpy in S&M gear, complete with whips and chains, steps in and as far as I can tell, her main job is to insult the contestants. So far, uh...so good?
In this episode, however, things don't go as planned.
After the first two challenges, the harpy, who is called Esha and is most certainly a pre-op transvestite, steps up and starts bad-mouthing the contestants. So far, all is going according to plan. But this is where things take a wrong turn. One of the contestants, who's clearly had enough of this unbelievably crappy mud-fight pretending to be a TV show, gets uppity and starts talking back. This, of course, is a serious deviation from the script and confuses the tranny very much. So he/she does the only logical thing under the circumstances.
She slaps the contestant.
Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty.
The contestant, clearly turned on by so much attention being heaped on him, slaps back viciously.
And then all hell breaks loose. The host of the show kicks things off by slamming into the contestant with some really classy suggestions involving contestant's mother and sister. The entire TV crew, and possibly half the guests at the show join in, manfully kicking the poor contestant who is now lying on the floor, bleating, "But how can she slap me?"
All in all, TV at its classiest. I am not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, so I cried a little.
Not to get philosophical here or draw parallels (I will anyway otherwise where is the fun), but my guess is that this incident on this TV show is simply a microcosm of what really happens in India. The hosts of that TV show are a metaphor for the powerful and well-connected. The contestant who got slapped is a stand-in for the unfortunate commoner who gets variously beaten up, robbed, raped, or killed by the powerful and well-connected with impunity. And the TV crew are the paid goons who do the dirty work of the powerful and well-connected when the commoner dares to react somehow.
And the law is a permanent absentee, as usual. In any civilized country, the show would have been off the air and the producer bankrupted with a lawsuit, but in India, my guess would be that life, for the producer and the show, has gone on.
Unless, of course, the whole thing was staged for effect and publicity, and has been secretly "leaked" to social media. In which case, how very clever of them!
But I do not think this is staged. I think this really happened, and this is indeed how the power equations work in India, as seen through the prism of a lousy unoriginal TV show.
So do you want to know how one gets powerful and well-connected in India? Well, I'll tell you anyway. Here is my observation from spending two decades in the country, during at least two important stages in my life, as a teenager and a young adult.
First off, you don't rock the boat.
Ever.
When you are younger, this means being a good little boy or girl and always listening to your parents. You eat what they tell you to eat, fuck who they tell you to fuck, and worship what they tell you to worship. This actually makes a lot of sense if the strategy is to get powerful and well-connected quickly, because after all, this is exactly what *your* parents did when *they* were younger and it worked out quite well for them. The alternative means taking risks, and risks carry the possibility of failure.
...I think there is a reason Indians don't eat cows. It could be construed as cannibalism.
As you grow older, one tack that people follow in *other* countries where rule of law and merit and stuff like that has any meaning, is that they work hard at something. Alas, this has some chance of succeeding in India, but not much. Ever wonder why the really bright people emigrate from India and suddenly seem to make it big in foreign countries? It is not an accident that this happens.
There are far quicker ways to make something of oneself in India. One way is to latch on to a scam of some sort. Scams are quite profitable and given the freewheeling nature of the land, quite risk-free in India. Sure, once in a while, you get too greedy and some journo or the other picks up on the story, but you know, journos can be bought. Or killed.
A second plan is to find another daddy-figure and since you've sorta outgrown your own daddy (a genuine Indian never outgrows their daddy and mommy, but let's not split hairs here), start sucking his cock instead.
This can be generalized into the following statement that must be followed in India if you have any chance of being counted among the successful and powerful: Never, ever, speak truth to power.
In civilized countries built on a meritocracy, speaking truth to power gets you admiration from all kinds of quarters. At worst, you get fired and find a new job. At best, you get promoted for your insight and guts. In India, that power that you are speaking truth to, destroys you.
Watch the clip again, folks. I'm telling you, there is a big lesson in there. Even bigger than Esha the Tranny's rigged tits.
The facts of the case seem to be this: There is or was a show called Dadagiri on some no-name Indian cable channel. This show is the Indian version of Fear Factor, with a dash of Jerry Springer thrown in. (One might even say, a soupçon of Jerry Springer thrown in. I am tempted to use use classy words here, because this is a very classy show.)
The show takes four college kids and puts them up against three different kinds of bullies. If you survive all three, you get a pile of cash for your trouble. First, a big hairy guy gives them physical challenges. Then a nerdy type asks them geeky questions. Then a harpy in S&M gear, complete with whips and chains, steps in and as far as I can tell, her main job is to insult the contestants. So far, uh...so good?
In this episode, however, things don't go as planned.
After the first two challenges, the harpy, who is called Esha and is most certainly a pre-op transvestite, steps up and starts bad-mouthing the contestants. So far, all is going according to plan. But this is where things take a wrong turn. One of the contestants, who's clearly had enough of this unbelievably crappy mud-fight pretending to be a TV show, gets uppity and starts talking back. This, of course, is a serious deviation from the script and confuses the tranny very much. So he/she does the only logical thing under the circumstances.
She slaps the contestant.
Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty.
The contestant, clearly turned on by so much attention being heaped on him, slaps back viciously.
And then all hell breaks loose. The host of the show kicks things off by slamming into the contestant with some really classy suggestions involving contestant's mother and sister. The entire TV crew, and possibly half the guests at the show join in, manfully kicking the poor contestant who is now lying on the floor, bleating, "But how can she slap me?"
All in all, TV at its classiest. I am not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, so I cried a little.
Not to get philosophical here or draw parallels (I will anyway otherwise where is the fun), but my guess is that this incident on this TV show is simply a microcosm of what really happens in India. The hosts of that TV show are a metaphor for the powerful and well-connected. The contestant who got slapped is a stand-in for the unfortunate commoner who gets variously beaten up, robbed, raped, or killed by the powerful and well-connected with impunity. And the TV crew are the paid goons who do the dirty work of the powerful and well-connected when the commoner dares to react somehow.
And the law is a permanent absentee, as usual. In any civilized country, the show would have been off the air and the producer bankrupted with a lawsuit, but in India, my guess would be that life, for the producer and the show, has gone on.
Unless, of course, the whole thing was staged for effect and publicity, and has been secretly "leaked" to social media. In which case, how very clever of them!
But I do not think this is staged. I think this really happened, and this is indeed how the power equations work in India, as seen through the prism of a lousy unoriginal TV show.
So do you want to know how one gets powerful and well-connected in India? Well, I'll tell you anyway. Here is my observation from spending two decades in the country, during at least two important stages in my life, as a teenager and a young adult.
First off, you don't rock the boat.
Ever.
When you are younger, this means being a good little boy or girl and always listening to your parents. You eat what they tell you to eat, fuck who they tell you to fuck, and worship what they tell you to worship. This actually makes a lot of sense if the strategy is to get powerful and well-connected quickly, because after all, this is exactly what *your* parents did when *they* were younger and it worked out quite well for them. The alternative means taking risks, and risks carry the possibility of failure.
...I think there is a reason Indians don't eat cows. It could be construed as cannibalism.
As you grow older, one tack that people follow in *other* countries where rule of law and merit and stuff like that has any meaning, is that they work hard at something. Alas, this has some chance of succeeding in India, but not much. Ever wonder why the really bright people emigrate from India and suddenly seem to make it big in foreign countries? It is not an accident that this happens.
There are far quicker ways to make something of oneself in India. One way is to latch on to a scam of some sort. Scams are quite profitable and given the freewheeling nature of the land, quite risk-free in India. Sure, once in a while, you get too greedy and some journo or the other picks up on the story, but you know, journos can be bought. Or killed.
A second plan is to find another daddy-figure and since you've sorta outgrown your own daddy (a genuine Indian never outgrows their daddy and mommy, but let's not split hairs here), start sucking his cock instead.
This can be generalized into the following statement that must be followed in India if you have any chance of being counted among the successful and powerful: Never, ever, speak truth to power.
In civilized countries built on a meritocracy, speaking truth to power gets you admiration from all kinds of quarters. At worst, you get fired and find a new job. At best, you get promoted for your insight and guts. In India, that power that you are speaking truth to, destroys you.
Watch the clip again, folks. I'm telling you, there is a big lesson in there. Even bigger than Esha the Tranny's rigged tits.
Tai-chi vs Rea-li-ty
In the twilight zone between science and religion, there sits a rainbow
band of pseudo-scientific disciplines that I, personally, categorize
under the general heading of "woo".
Mind-reading and mediums, tarot cards and voodoo, ghosthunting and demonology, homeopathy and phrenology, astrology and numerology, reiki and fengshui. Woo goes by many names. People spend tons of time and money on these things with very little returns beyond the placebo effect. And this is OK; I am a free-marketeer by principle and people are perfectly at discretion to spend their hard-earned money as they see fit.
Even though the word "science" appears in the description, there is of course nothing remotely scientific about these things and not one has a snowball's chance in hell of surviving scientific scrutiny. (Unfortunately for them, they actually make testable claims.)
There might very well be mysterious beings and forces outside our current understanding. We cannot be sure that there are not. But what you can be damn sure of is that the folks on TV running shows with names like "Ghosthunters" and making googly-eyes at the ceiling under a night-vision camera are transparent con-men who realize they would get paid far less if they got a real job.
Unless you start depending on this sort of thing exclusively, most of this stuff is harmless most of the time apart from making you a little poorer. But the problems start cropping up when the bullshitters actually start believing in their own bullshit. This happens on rare occasions because most successful peddlers of pseudo-science are smart savvy marketing types; they very well understand that a brush against cold hard reality will turn off the money-tap very quickly and therefore try to avoid this at all costs. People like Uri Geller found this out the hard way. But on the rare occasions when this happens, it is priceless to watch. Here is a little example of that in this video below. I am embarrassed to admit that I have never laughed so hard at an old man getting beaten up. But the unfortunate fact is that this is pretty much what happens when mystical shamanic bullshit meets the cold hard reality of a fist to the face.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Mind-reading and mediums, tarot cards and voodoo, ghosthunting and demonology, homeopathy and phrenology, astrology and numerology, reiki and fengshui. Woo goes by many names. People spend tons of time and money on these things with very little returns beyond the placebo effect. And this is OK; I am a free-marketeer by principle and people are perfectly at discretion to spend their hard-earned money as they see fit.
Even though the word "science" appears in the description, there is of course nothing remotely scientific about these things and not one has a snowball's chance in hell of surviving scientific scrutiny. (Unfortunately for them, they actually make testable claims.)
There might very well be mysterious beings and forces outside our current understanding. We cannot be sure that there are not. But what you can be damn sure of is that the folks on TV running shows with names like "Ghosthunters" and making googly-eyes at the ceiling under a night-vision camera are transparent con-men who realize they would get paid far less if they got a real job.
Unless you start depending on this sort of thing exclusively, most of this stuff is harmless most of the time apart from making you a little poorer. But the problems start cropping up when the bullshitters actually start believing in their own bullshit. This happens on rare occasions because most successful peddlers of pseudo-science are smart savvy marketing types; they very well understand that a brush against cold hard reality will turn off the money-tap very quickly and therefore try to avoid this at all costs. People like Uri Geller found this out the hard way. But on the rare occasions when this happens, it is priceless to watch. Here is a little example of that in this video below. I am embarrassed to admit that I have never laughed so hard at an old man getting beaten up. But the unfortunate fact is that this is pretty much what happens when mystical shamanic bullshit meets the cold hard reality of a fist to the face.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
A dilemma
Since this is a lazy day and I have nothing on my hands, I was thinking. This is generally a bad thing.
I was thinking about philosophy. Which is worse.
There is this little dilemma in philosophy called the Euthyphro Dilemma, attributed to Plato. Simply stated, it goes, "Does god command something because it is moral or is it moral because he commands it?"
Let's parse that. If something is moral because god commands it, then whatever comes out of his mouth is moral. If the command is to kill your son or kill another tribe or own slaves, then that is the moral thing to do. Regardless of how heinous the act, it is moral. Most fairminded people would balk at this notion.
I was thinking about philosophy. Which is worse.
There is this little dilemma in philosophy called the Euthyphro Dilemma, attributed to Plato. Simply stated, it goes, "Does god command something because it is moral or is it moral because he commands it?"
Let's parse that. If something is moral because god commands it, then whatever comes out of his mouth is moral. If the command is to kill your son or kill another tribe or own slaves, then that is the moral thing to do. Regardless of how heinous the act, it is moral. Most fairminded people would balk at this notion.
On the other hand, if god commands something only if it is moral, then this means that the source of morality is external to god. The standard is set elsewhere. Which in turn means that if we wanted to behave morally, then we might as well cut out the middleman (god, in this case) and go directly to the source, making god either a moral intermediary (at best) or morally irrelevant (at worst).
One way out of the dilemma, seemingly, is the claim that god cannot command something that is immoral. He is inexorably barred from doing so because he is incapable of evil. This resolves the dilemma in favor of the statement that whatever god commands is moral because he is incapable of being immoral.
This "solution", however, bumps up against the question of moral agency.
See, here's the thing. For an act to be judged moral, there must be agency. Here is an example of what I mean. Let us imagine a group of kids on a picnic who stray too far and end up in a forest. Lost and confused, they try to make their way back to where their parents are, but end up deeper in the forest instead and run into a lion. The lion prepares to make a snack of the kids. Suddenly, there is a minor earthquake and this is sufficient to dislodge a large rock that is uphill. The rock rolls down and crushes the lion, saving the kids.
One way out of the dilemma, seemingly, is the claim that god cannot command something that is immoral. He is inexorably barred from doing so because he is incapable of evil. This resolves the dilemma in favor of the statement that whatever god commands is moral because he is incapable of being immoral.
This "solution", however, bumps up against the question of moral agency.
See, here's the thing. For an act to be judged moral, there must be agency. Here is an example of what I mean. Let us imagine a group of kids on a picnic who stray too far and end up in a forest. Lost and confused, they try to make their way back to where their parents are, but end up deeper in the forest instead and run into a lion. The lion prepares to make a snack of the kids. Suddenly, there is a minor earthquake and this is sufficient to dislodge a large rock that is uphill. The rock rolls down and crushes the lion, saving the kids.
It is quite easy to see that even though the act of saving the kids was a moral act, we cannot assign morality to the rock. The rock was following the laws of physics. It was not a moral agent because it had no choice but to roll down and crush the lion. If instead, the lion was killed by a hunter with a rifle, then there is moral agency. The hunter had a choice. He could simply have ignored the situation and carried on.
Put simply, for an action to be morally good, the agent must have choice. To be good, you must be capable of being evil.
If god is to have moral agency, we must concede that god is capable of evil. If he is capable of evil, then we are back to the original dilemma, i.e. whatever god commands cannot be automatically moral. Even if we grant that every action and command of god has been perfectly moral so far, there is no guarantee that this will hold in the future. In fact, the very next command out of god's mouth could be dripping with evil, which we will hopefully judge using some other standard than god's own. To deny this by saying, "Well, that's impossible", is to immediately surrender the claim of god's moral agency and the dilemma stands.
[Postscript] There is a recursive trap in the structure of the Euthyphro Dilemma. One of the horns of the dilemma, if you will, states that the ultimate source of morality may be external to god. This sets up a recursion. If the ultimate source of morality is external to god, then the dilemma must apply with equal force to that source too: "Does the universal moral standard state something because it is moral, or is something moral because the universal standard says so?" And so on, ad infinitum.
At the risk of sounding like I am ranting, this is my basic problem with the god-concept in general. It is not that I dislike it because people kill in the name of god and religion. People have enough reasons to kill other people and have happily done so. A significant number of us will merrily kill even without a reason. That is not my beef with the god-concept. It is that when you dig just a little deeper beyond the happy horseshit...probe just a little farther past the pomp and pageantry, most canonical statements about god degenerate into philosophically recursive nonsense. [/Rant off.]
If god is to have moral agency, we must concede that god is capable of evil. If he is capable of evil, then we are back to the original dilemma, i.e. whatever god commands cannot be automatically moral. Even if we grant that every action and command of god has been perfectly moral so far, there is no guarantee that this will hold in the future. In fact, the very next command out of god's mouth could be dripping with evil, which we will hopefully judge using some other standard than god's own. To deny this by saying, "Well, that's impossible", is to immediately surrender the claim of god's moral agency and the dilemma stands.
[Postscript] There is a recursive trap in the structure of the Euthyphro Dilemma. One of the horns of the dilemma, if you will, states that the ultimate source of morality may be external to god. This sets up a recursion. If the ultimate source of morality is external to god, then the dilemma must apply with equal force to that source too: "Does the universal moral standard state something because it is moral, or is something moral because the universal standard says so?" And so on, ad infinitum.
At the risk of sounding like I am ranting, this is my basic problem with the god-concept in general. It is not that I dislike it because people kill in the name of god and religion. People have enough reasons to kill other people and have happily done so. A significant number of us will merrily kill even without a reason. That is not my beef with the god-concept. It is that when you dig just a little deeper beyond the happy horseshit...probe just a little farther past the pomp and pageantry, most canonical statements about god degenerate into philosophically recursive nonsense. [/Rant off.]
There are times when I sit and ponder the great questions facing us: What is life? What is the nature of time? Why is there something instead of nothing? What was there before the universe? And, of course the biggest one of them all: Who, really, let the dogs out?
Nobody has been able to answer these questions convincingly, and if you are reading this blog instead of reading your goddamn textbooks, then you are as far away from the answers as you can possibly get.
Nobody has been able to answer these questions convincingly, and if you are reading this blog instead of reading your goddamn textbooks, then you are as far away from the answers as you can possibly get.
Namaste guruji
I recently got a bit caught up in a conversation about gurus on Chronicus Skepticus' blog. I usually hate doing that, i.e. using someone else's space as a soapbox. It is sorta pointless because Blogspot offers you unlimited space right here; to be an asshole on your own time, in your own space, and on your own account. Blogspot is so neat I could have kids with it.
Over the long eons, Hindus have vomited up this busload of gurus, ok? And even bigger busloads of Hindus flock to these gurus. Ostensibly to learn how to live their lives. I would have thought that even a nominal adult would have some sort of a clue about living his OWN frickin' life, but then again, not everybody has a quarter [**]. Some of these gurus are out and out con men specializing in the long con, some are unapologetically misogynistic creeps, and some are marketing geniuses. None is especially holy. All are in it for the money or the adulation, bar none.
But people often go to great lengths to justify a choice. It's part of our psychology. This is why people talk up a moneyshredder portfolio that they have bought into. Or stick with redneck husbands who kick the shit out of them on a regular schedule. Or rationalize indefensible habits. So it goes with gurus too. There is a certain kind of person who will readily join the party in bashing a wide spectrum of gurus, but demur when it comes that special one. Some people, like my mother-in-law (yes, somebody was actually stoned out of her mind enough to allow her daughter to get hitched to me), will not tire of telling you that their gurus aren't like all those other riff-raff, carpetbagger gurus. This is the classic cop out: Oh, but MY guru is "not like that". No sir. He is "modern". He is not the usual gender-biased caste-coddling attention whore.
Yeah, yeah, maybe there is a point in there somewhere, but screw that shit, I say. Why settle for a better guru when you can have the best? You know who the best, most enlightened guru in the world is?
The best guru in the world is the guru, who when you enter his home for the first time, tells you to fuck off and go learn to think for yourself and never darken his doorway again.
Why this is not obvious to anybody with an IQ higher than that of a dung-beetle is not obvious to me.
[**] To buy the clue.
Over the long eons, Hindus have vomited up this busload of gurus, ok? And even bigger busloads of Hindus flock to these gurus. Ostensibly to learn how to live their lives. I would have thought that even a nominal adult would have some sort of a clue about living his OWN frickin' life, but then again, not everybody has a quarter [**]. Some of these gurus are out and out con men specializing in the long con, some are unapologetically misogynistic creeps, and some are marketing geniuses. None is especially holy. All are in it for the money or the adulation, bar none.
But people often go to great lengths to justify a choice. It's part of our psychology. This is why people talk up a moneyshredder portfolio that they have bought into. Or stick with redneck husbands who kick the shit out of them on a regular schedule. Or rationalize indefensible habits. So it goes with gurus too. There is a certain kind of person who will readily join the party in bashing a wide spectrum of gurus, but demur when it comes that special one. Some people, like my mother-in-law (yes, somebody was actually stoned out of her mind enough to allow her daughter to get hitched to me), will not tire of telling you that their gurus aren't like all those other riff-raff, carpetbagger gurus. This is the classic cop out: Oh, but MY guru is "not like that". No sir. He is "modern". He is not the usual gender-biased caste-coddling attention whore.
Yeah, yeah, maybe there is a point in there somewhere, but screw that shit, I say. Why settle for a better guru when you can have the best? You know who the best, most enlightened guru in the world is?
The best guru in the world is the guru, who when you enter his home for the first time, tells you to fuck off and go learn to think for yourself and never darken his doorway again.
Why this is not obvious to anybody with an IQ higher than that of a dung-beetle is not obvious to me.
[**] To buy the clue.
can't go back home this a-way
If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles.
Lord I'm one, lord I'm two, lord I'm three, lord I'm four
Lord I'm five hundred miles away from home.
--500 miles, Traditional folk song
Moral of the story: You can sorta-calypso damn near any song.
High flyers, wailing birds
I'm so far out to sea
Ships are passing every night
Oh, all my boyish dreams
And your every melody
With the sea tides tossing free
Never, never holding back
Rock and rollers drift by
Turn to summer, goes so fast
Seems I'll never see you
One weekend and a photograph
Oh, all my boyish dreams
-- UFO, High Flyers
A song from eons ago and ages lost. There's almost nothing you cannot find on youtube. Everytime I hear the words "rock and rollers drift by", I can see boats rocking on the waves and I can smell the sea. Daft, maybe. But so there.
The Song
In my college days, I used to take the train from Bangalore to Calcutta to go spend time with my family during the hols. There was this beggar-man who I have seen at least three or four times on these trips. He used to get on the train somewhere near Bhubaneshwar and he used to sing for coins. Some of us used to give him money, and he used to get off the train a few stops later.
He was either blind or had the most mangled normal eyes that I've ever seen. He used to be on the arm of a little kid who led him through the crowded train. Whether the kid was his own, I don't know. The man always sang this one song. It was in Oriya. The romantic in me likes to think he came up with it himself, but it was probably lifted from some movie. Oriya is close enough to Bangla that I understood what he was saying. I can even put down the original words here, but I'm afraid that I'll mangle them rather badly.
Briefly, what he was saying is this.
He had a beautiful voice, and he sang this in a refrain. It wasn't boring. It was mesmerizing somehow; at least to me. And then afterwards, he finished the song with a few lines which said, essentially:
Sorry for the poor translation, but that is close enough.
Some things stay with you. That song has stayed with me because I was simultaneously haunted and puzzled by that song. To be precise, I was puzzled by the words. My then young mind couldn't grasp the meaning of that song. (And I still can't grasp the meaning; maybe someone can explain it.) Here was someone who had a crippling (and how!) disadvantage. And in his mind, he had identified his god as the cause of his condition. He said so in as many words. He lamented this fact, at length, in a song, and then basically concluded that his god is really, secretly, verily, a nice guy. So what if this god has quite plainly screwed him over for life? Mere detail.
And oh by the way, that song is not unique in its sentiment. As I have lived and learned, I have heard this same idea expressed in poetry, music, and literature. And I wonder. Are we the only animals that do this? Are we the only species that identifies something that is causing us pain and then proceed to love that cause. Isn't that the dictionary definition of masochism?
I don't think a single other kind of animal does this. Even the puniest animal does something, ANYTHING when faced with a vastly more powerful one. It kicks, scratches, it tries to bite back. It reacts somehow, someway. Even at the most passive, it cowers and whimpers in fear. What it DOES NOT DO is stand in the corner and sing praises of its tormentor.
But humans do this frequently. Why?
And don't you think that a god, if he were around, would be amused by this a little? I mean, if there indeed existed a god and we were indeed his charge, then I can almost see him sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere, munching on a big divine bowl of nachos, nudging his beer buddies and going: "Get a load of this guys. I kick them in the shins, I pull their wings off and then push them with my finger to see how far they'll crawl...and they gulp it all down and still call me in the morning. Man, these men are stupid! And to think that they think that the other animals I put on that planet are dumb!! What a hoot."
That is why I take a different tack of course. See, here's what I think. I think that in a universe created by a benevolent god (or even by a neutral but competent god), no one should be required to stumble barefoot through a dirty train singing to keep body and soul together. Something doesn't smell right here. So it follows naturally that if there is a single architect of this world, then that gentleman is either glaringly incompetent or an irredeemable rancid cunt. There is no third conclusion. So cussing him out is the thing to do, really. It is what every believer should do, nevermind us atheists. Maybe that way, the prick will be stung enough to pay attention. So don't spoil him with praise, people. That way you are making him the exact opposite of what you want him to be. Now doesn't that make a lot more sense than what the men in frocks have told you?
Think about it. And have a good and drunken Fourth of July.
He was either blind or had the most mangled normal eyes that I've ever seen. He used to be on the arm of a little kid who led him through the crowded train. Whether the kid was his own, I don't know. The man always sang this one song. It was in Oriya. The romantic in me likes to think he came up with it himself, but it was probably lifted from some movie. Oriya is close enough to Bangla that I understood what he was saying. I can even put down the original words here, but I'm afraid that I'll mangle them rather badly.
Briefly, what he was saying is this.
Lord, you are cruel for having done this to me.
If you look inside my sad heart, you will see my pain.
He had a beautiful voice, and he sang this in a refrain. It wasn't boring. It was mesmerizing somehow; at least to me. And then afterwards, he finished the song with a few lines which said, essentially:
But Lord, you are good and merciful.
I know that you look over me and will look after me.
And for this, I love you and I worship you.
Sorry for the poor translation, but that is close enough.
Some things stay with you. That song has stayed with me because I was simultaneously haunted and puzzled by that song. To be precise, I was puzzled by the words. My then young mind couldn't grasp the meaning of that song. (And I still can't grasp the meaning; maybe someone can explain it.) Here was someone who had a crippling (and how!) disadvantage. And in his mind, he had identified his god as the cause of his condition. He said so in as many words. He lamented this fact, at length, in a song, and then basically concluded that his god is really, secretly, verily, a nice guy. So what if this god has quite plainly screwed him over for life? Mere detail.
And oh by the way, that song is not unique in its sentiment. As I have lived and learned, I have heard this same idea expressed in poetry, music, and literature. And I wonder. Are we the only animals that do this? Are we the only species that identifies something that is causing us pain and then proceed to love that cause. Isn't that the dictionary definition of masochism?
I don't think a single other kind of animal does this. Even the puniest animal does something, ANYTHING when faced with a vastly more powerful one. It kicks, scratches, it tries to bite back. It reacts somehow, someway. Even at the most passive, it cowers and whimpers in fear. What it DOES NOT DO is stand in the corner and sing praises of its tormentor.
But humans do this frequently. Why?
And don't you think that a god, if he were around, would be amused by this a little? I mean, if there indeed existed a god and we were indeed his charge, then I can almost see him sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere, munching on a big divine bowl of nachos, nudging his beer buddies and going: "Get a load of this guys. I kick them in the shins, I pull their wings off and then push them with my finger to see how far they'll crawl...and they gulp it all down and still call me in the morning. Man, these men are stupid! And to think that they think that the other animals I put on that planet are dumb!! What a hoot."
That is why I take a different tack of course. See, here's what I think. I think that in a universe created by a benevolent god (or even by a neutral but competent god), no one should be required to stumble barefoot through a dirty train singing to keep body and soul together. Something doesn't smell right here. So it follows naturally that if there is a single architect of this world, then that gentleman is either glaringly incompetent or an irredeemable rancid cunt. There is no third conclusion. So cussing him out is the thing to do, really. It is what every believer should do, nevermind us atheists. Maybe that way, the prick will be stung enough to pay attention. So don't spoil him with praise, people. That way you are making him the exact opposite of what you want him to be. Now doesn't that make a lot more sense than what the men in frocks have told you?
Think about it. And have a good and drunken Fourth of July.
She
I don't right remember where I met her first. I think it was at the pool hall where I go to practise billiards. She was in the corner and seemed to be playing by herself. But oh of course she was with somebody! A gorgeous thing like her never roams the streets free. I don't think men ALLOW a gorgeous thing like her to roam the streets free. Not in this country.
I also don't quite remember how I got to know her better. I think I just walked up and introduced myself to her one day. We became friends. At first.
She has mixed ancestry, like most things American. All her parents and grandparents originally came from different parts of Europe, like most things American. And did I mention that she is gorgeous? Well she is. Head-turning, heart-aching, drop-dead gorgeous. Big hazel eyes; golden hair. Absolutely stunning.
We are very close now. It certainly seems that way unless I am reading all the signs wrong. We have eaten together a few times and I have seen past the looks. I now know that she has a golden nature to go along with that golden hair. A gentler soul I have not seen.
She is younger than me though. Almost embarassingly younger. I always knew that but I didn't know exactly how old she was until recently. It was of course impossible to get her to tell me, so I asked someone else. And just as I suspected, the difference is big. I mean, I'm not some creepy old guy, but by god, she is young. But you know what...it doesn't seem to bother her, so why should I mention it? She doesn't even seem to be aware of the difference, so why should I be?
We are very close now. There is just something about the way she looks at me with those big melting eyes that makes me just want to reach out and touch her. Everytime. And I do. I run my fingers through her hair when we think that no one is looking and that always makes her snuggle a little closer to me. The other day, she rubbed her cute nose against my face, shyly but playfully. A nose-kiss, if you will. And in front of everybody. Now if that isn't an open declaration of love and bonding, then I don't know what is. I hope she does that again soon.
We are very happy when we are with each other. But...there is just one thing that bugs me about all this. See, I don't think I quite love her. I mean, it's close, but it's not love. I just know it. Oh, I know that *she* is in love. Without a doubt. I see that in her eyes everytime she looks at me. But I can't return the favour completely.
Why? What is wrong with me? Makes me question myself sometimes. Why can't I love that bitch? The bitch loves me, practically dotes on me; so why can't I? Why can't I give my heart, completely and unconditionally, to that bitch.
Why? Why? Oh why?
Oh, and for those who like to keep track of these things, I think that she is part golden retriever and part collie. At least according to the owner.
And no, you cannot have the last ten minutes of your life back.
I also don't quite remember how I got to know her better. I think I just walked up and introduced myself to her one day. We became friends. At first.
She has mixed ancestry, like most things American. All her parents and grandparents originally came from different parts of Europe, like most things American. And did I mention that she is gorgeous? Well she is. Head-turning, heart-aching, drop-dead gorgeous. Big hazel eyes; golden hair. Absolutely stunning.
We are very close now. It certainly seems that way unless I am reading all the signs wrong. We have eaten together a few times and I have seen past the looks. I now know that she has a golden nature to go along with that golden hair. A gentler soul I have not seen.
She is younger than me though. Almost embarassingly younger. I always knew that but I didn't know exactly how old she was until recently. It was of course impossible to get her to tell me, so I asked someone else. And just as I suspected, the difference is big. I mean, I'm not some creepy old guy, but by god, she is young. But you know what...it doesn't seem to bother her, so why should I mention it? She doesn't even seem to be aware of the difference, so why should I be?
We are very close now. There is just something about the way she looks at me with those big melting eyes that makes me just want to reach out and touch her. Everytime. And I do. I run my fingers through her hair when we think that no one is looking and that always makes her snuggle a little closer to me. The other day, she rubbed her cute nose against my face, shyly but playfully. A nose-kiss, if you will. And in front of everybody. Now if that isn't an open declaration of love and bonding, then I don't know what is. I hope she does that again soon.
We are very happy when we are with each other. But...there is just one thing that bugs me about all this. See, I don't think I quite love her. I mean, it's close, but it's not love. I just know it. Oh, I know that *she* is in love. Without a doubt. I see that in her eyes everytime she looks at me. But I can't return the favour completely.
Why? What is wrong with me? Makes me question myself sometimes. Why can't I love that bitch? The bitch loves me, practically dotes on me; so why can't I? Why can't I give my heart, completely and unconditionally, to that bitch.
Why? Why? Oh why?
Oh, and for those who like to keep track of these things, I think that she is part golden retriever and part collie. At least according to the owner.
And no, you cannot have the last ten minutes of your life back.
We never plagiarize, we are just "influenced."
We also know that some people are more influenced than others. An example would be, say, that tool called Anu Malik. Now that is some seriously rampant influence at work.
I don't quite know what it is about that Anu Malik guy, but everytime I see his mug on TV,I feel like smashing his fat, smug, lying, content face in with nothing but my blunt stiff dick. And then pissing on the result. I feel like turning off the TV.
I think there is a name for this particular disorder. I must look it up.
Sometimes though we take a work to be original for a long time till we find different. No prizes for guessing which Hindi song was "influenced" by this number called Return To The Alamo, originally played by The Shadows. I can't find the original on Youtube. If someone does, please let me know.
But whatever...it's great music, in whichever language.
We also know that some people are more influenced than others. An example would be, say, that tool called Anu Malik. Now that is some seriously rampant influence at work.
I don't quite know what it is about that Anu Malik guy, but everytime I see his mug on TV,
I think there is a name for this particular disorder. I must look it up.
Sometimes though we take a work to be original for a long time till we find different. No prizes for guessing which Hindi song was "influenced" by this number called Return To The Alamo, originally played by The Shadows. I can't find the original on Youtube. If someone does, please let me know.
But whatever...it's great music, in whichever language.
No matter how jaded I get, I'll never hate music. A friend introduced me to this song and told me that I was out of touch.
The original is from a Punjabi Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. The words are wonderful.
It is the song of the nowhere man.
[The translated lyrics are courtesy of this web site.]
The original is from a Punjabi Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. The words are wonderful.
Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
Not in stillness, nor on the move
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
I am the first, I am the last
None other, have I ever known
I am the wisest of them all
Bulleh! do I stand alone?
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
It is the song of the nowhere man.
[The translated lyrics are courtesy of this web site.]
sans un regard, reine de Saba
In Jean-Jacques Goldman's song Aicha, a man woos a woman and promises her everything: pearls, gold, treasures, fruits and honey, poems, the music of the skies, the rays of the sun...even his life and breath, to which she makes a simple but fitting reply.
Or, at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk8rmZH_oPY
Aicha
As if I don't exist
She was passing by me
With no regard, the Queen of Sheba
I said, Aisha, take this, all of it is for you.
Comme si je n'existais pas
Elle est passee a cote de moi,
Sans un regard, reine de Saba
J'ai dit: Aicha, prends tout est pour toi
Here, the pearls, the jewels,
also the gold around your neck
The fruits, well ripe with the taste of honey
And my life, Aisha if you love me!
Voici, les perles, les bijoux
Aussi l'or autour de ton cou
Les fruits bien murs au gout de miel
Ma vie, Aicha, si tu m'aimes.
I will go where your breath leads me,
In countries of ivory and ebony
I will erase your tears, your sorrows
Nothing is too beautiful for a girl so beautiful.
J'irai ou ton souffle nous mene,
dans les pays d'ivoire et d'ebene
J'effacerai tes larmes, tes peines,
rien n'est trop beau pour une si belle
Aisha, Aisha, listen to me
Aisha, Aisha, don't go
Aisha, Aisha, look at me
Aisha, Aisha, answer me
Aicha, Aicha, ecoute moi
Aicha, Aicha, t'en vas pas
Aicha, Aicha, regarde moi
Aicha, Aicha, reponds moi
Aicha replies:
"Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love."
Elle a dit: Garde tous tes tresors
Moi, je vaus mieux que tout ca
Des barreaux sont des barreaux memes en or,
Je veux les memes droits que toi
Du respect pour chaque jour
Moi, je ne veux que de l'amour
Or, at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk8rmZH_oPY
Aicha
As if I don't exist
She was passing by me
With no regard, the Queen of Sheba
I said, Aisha, take this, all of it is for you.
Comme si je n'existais pas
Elle est passee a cote de moi,
Sans un regard, reine de Saba
J'ai dit: Aicha, prends tout est pour toi
Here, the pearls, the jewels,
also the gold around your neck
The fruits, well ripe with the taste of honey
And my life, Aisha if you love me!
Voici, les perles, les bijoux
Aussi l'or autour de ton cou
Les fruits bien murs au gout de miel
Ma vie, Aicha, si tu m'aimes.
I will go where your breath leads me,
In countries of ivory and ebony
I will erase your tears, your sorrows
Nothing is too beautiful for a girl so beautiful.
J'irai ou ton souffle nous mene,
dans les pays d'ivoire et d'ebene
J'effacerai tes larmes, tes peines,
rien n'est trop beau pour une si belle
Aisha, Aisha, listen to me
Aisha, Aisha, don't go
Aisha, Aisha, look at me
Aisha, Aisha, answer me
Aicha, Aicha, ecoute moi
Aicha, Aicha, t'en vas pas
Aicha, Aicha, regarde moi
Aicha, Aicha, reponds moi
Aicha replies:
"Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love."
Elle a dit: Garde tous tes tresors
Moi, je vaus mieux que tout ca
Des barreaux sont des barreaux memes en or,
Je veux les memes droits que toi
Du respect pour chaque jour
Moi, je ne veux que de l'amour
Bliss
What is bliss? Have you wondered? Wonder no more, my preciouses. I'll tell you. In fact, I'll paint you a picture.
A Saturday morning. I am sitting on the carpet in my jammies and watching a movie called Alien Apocalypse on cable. The plot is very gripping. Something about someone or the other coming back to earth from somewhere in space and finding humans being ruled by giant bugs.
No, it's not a documentary about George W. Bush. It is a sci-fi flick.
The acting is Oscar material of course. And the bugs look very realistic. In fact, they look exactly like a bunch of underpaid actors in giant plastic shells. You can't get any more realistic than that.
After watching for some time, I've figured out that there are two important differences between the humans and bugs which have allowed all this planet-taking-over business.
1. The bugs have more arms.
2. They are better actors.
This Saturday could not be more perfect.
I'm pulling for the bugs.
A Saturday morning. I am sitting on the carpet in my jammies and watching a movie called Alien Apocalypse on cable. The plot is very gripping. Something about someone or the other coming back to earth from somewhere in space and finding humans being ruled by giant bugs.
No, it's not a documentary about George W. Bush. It is a sci-fi flick.
The acting is Oscar material of course. And the bugs look very realistic. In fact, they look exactly like a bunch of underpaid actors in giant plastic shells. You can't get any more realistic than that.
After watching for some time, I've figured out that there are two important differences between the humans and bugs which have allowed all this planet-taking-over business.
1. The bugs have more arms.
2. They are better actors.
This Saturday could not be more perfect.
I'm pulling for the bugs.
Sermon #666
Shit happens. Bumper stickers have proved this beyond all debate.
But good things also happen. When good things happen, we thank god. Especially when good things happen after bad things. Then we really thank god.
I think that we often confuse our own strength, our own resilience, and our belief in ourselves for the Hand of God.
Never lose belief in yourself. If you stop believing in god, you'll still live. If you stop believing in yourself, you're pretty much finished.
Note: The above can be construed as non-mathematical but intuitive proof that you are more kickass than god any day of the week. Give yourself a pat.
But good things also happen. When good things happen, we thank god. Especially when good things happen after bad things. Then we really thank god.
I think that we often confuse our own strength, our own resilience, and our belief in ourselves for the Hand of God.
Never lose belief in yourself. If you stop believing in god, you'll still live. If you stop believing in yourself, you're pretty much finished.
Note: The above can be construed as non-mathematical but intuitive proof that you are more kickass than god any day of the week. Give yourself a pat.
And meanwhile, in Sudan
British teacher gets 15 days and deportation for her un-Islamic ways.
Well, what can I say... it could have been worse.
Well, what can I say... it could have been worse.
Elections in Gujarat, Tehelka, etc.
Why do some people express suprise that Modi was elected in a landslide in Gujarat after the Godhra riots? I understand expressions of horror, but why fucking surprise? Why say stuff like, "I still can't believe Modi was elected...".
What's not to believe? Barely two months after thousands of Sikhs were butchered like animals on the streets of a major world capital, the WHOLE OF INDIA voted Rajiv Gandhi into office with the largest majority that the Indian Parliament has known. A parliament that holds office in that same city. Read that again carefully: the whole of fucking India.
Gujarat is a part of India. The part simply displayed a property of the whole. What's not to believe?
What's...fucking...not...to...believe?
I sometimes wish I was not born in India.
What's not to believe? Barely two months after thousands of Sikhs were butchered like animals on the streets of a major world capital, the WHOLE OF INDIA voted Rajiv Gandhi into office with the largest majority that the Indian Parliament has known. A parliament that holds office in that same city. Read that again carefully: the whole of fucking India.
Gujarat is a part of India. The part simply displayed a property of the whole. What's not to believe?
What's...fucking...not...to...believe?
I sometimes wish I was not born in India.
Financial markets for the Easily Confused
Thanks to the recent credit crisis in the United States, I am learning a lot about financial markets. But larnin' is hard, so I have come up with a rough but handy glossary to stop me from getting confused every three seconds. Here is what I have so far.
Structured Investment Vehicles : Crappy Loans.
Alt-A Mortgages: Basically giving awaysometimes your money without your permission, and not to charity.
Our portfolio of structured investment vehicles has softened due to the situation in the credit markets: You own stock in our company? Ha, ha, you poor fool.
We are taking a writedown this quarter: Some (insanely wealthy) numbnuts is getting handed the pink slip at our company for making a bunch of crappy loans, but boy, you should see the severance package.
We are taking a writedown this quarter, but it is less than we expected: We got into the crappy-loanmaking game late.
Structured Investment Vehicles : Crappy Loans.
Alt-A Mortgages: Basically giving away
Our portfolio of structured investment vehicles has softened due to the situation in the credit markets: You own stock in our company? Ha, ha, you poor fool.
We are taking a writedown this quarter: Some (insanely wealthy) numbnuts is getting handed the pink slip at our company for making a bunch of crappy loans, but boy, you should see the severance package.
We are taking a writedown this quarter, but it is less than we expected: We got into the crappy-loanmaking game late.
Only words
In the languages that I speak, there is no taxonomy of the obvious. We do not name default positions. That is why "bald" (not the usual condition) is a word, but there is no word like "hairheaded" or "hairful". "One-armed" is a word, but I have never heard the word "two-armed" used to describe somebody, since well...it would be sorta redundant.
We name the deviations from the norm, but we don't usually have words for the norm.
That is why it is my unswerving opinion that any society that has the word "feminist" in currency stinks to high heaven because something is terribly wrong with that society. In an enlightened society, the word would be a meaningless default.
I believe that at some point in time, identifying yourself as an abolitionist had the side-effect of identifying your surroundings as fucked up beyond belief. I don't see how identifying yourself as a feminist is any different.
We name the deviations from the norm, but we don't usually have words for the norm.
That is why it is my unswerving opinion that any society that has the word "feminist" in currency stinks to high heaven because something is terribly wrong with that society. In an enlightened society, the word would be a meaningless default.
I believe that at some point in time, identifying yourself as an abolitionist had the side-effect of identifying your surroundings as fucked up beyond belief. I don't see how identifying yourself as a feminist is any different.
Bose
Subhash Bose is a much debated figure. Was he a hero, or was he an opportunist who teamed up with Fascists?
I get asked about Bose.
It is assumed that since I am a Bengali, I am an automatic expert on Bose. I am not. My knowledge of Bose is approximately equal to my knowledge of Bal Gangadhar Tilak or Chandrasekhar Azad. But I do know some.
The concerns expressed are:
1. Why did he ally with Imperial Japan and seek the help of Nazi Germany? That would make him an imperialist Fascist.
I have a couple of close friends who are Americans, Indophiles, and history buffs. This question comes mostly from them, and there is an undertone of horror. He was a Nazi! The horror! There is rich irony here, because that sort of logic also leads to the inescapable conclusion that the United States is, at this point in time, a military dictatorship. Don't get it? Well, the United States collaborates with Pakistan, and if Pakistan is a military dictatorship, then...
I do not know if Subhash Bose was a Fascist. I don't think so, but I may be wrong. I do not know if his political views would have aligned with mine. Or even, clearly, what his political views were. I have a vague idea that he admired authoritarian forms of government like in Soviet Union and Germany. I think that he was a military leader first. He did not get a chance to become a political leader. My belief is that India would not be a democracy (for what that's worth) if Subhash Bose had kicked out the English and then taken control of independent India. I think he would have been dictator. Whether he would have been an enlightened one, we'll never know.
2. Wouldn't the Japanese have grabbed India if the British were defeated by the alliance of the Japanese and INA? How was Bose planning to deal with the Japanese in the long term?
I don't know. My belief is that history would have run this course. If Subhash Bose had won, either he (or the Japanese) would have taken control. After the defeat of Japan by the Allied forces, Britain would have attacked India to regain control, possibly with covert American support. This would have been very similar to the French attack on Vietnam after World War II, with possibly similar results.
We'll never know the true course of history for sure of course, but I am almost sure that were I alive then, I would have joined the army. Just to see the sumbitch J. Nehru in fatigues and actually doing something useful for the country for a change. I would risk life and limb to see that.
I would also have liked to see Mohandas Gandhi faced with this delicate choice: Either stick to non-violence in the face of British attack and, in effect, advocate a reversion of free India to British rule, OR take up arms and renounce his cherished notion of non-violence under all conditions. What would he have chosen to become? A violent patriot, or a non-violent traitor? An interesting choice indeed.
I get asked about Bose.
It is assumed that since I am a Bengali, I am an automatic expert on Bose. I am not. My knowledge of Bose is approximately equal to my knowledge of Bal Gangadhar Tilak or Chandrasekhar Azad. But I do know some.
The concerns expressed are:
1. Why did he ally with Imperial Japan and seek the help of Nazi Germany? That would make him an imperialist Fascist.
I have a couple of close friends who are Americans, Indophiles, and history buffs. This question comes mostly from them, and there is an undertone of horror. He was a Nazi! The horror! There is rich irony here, because that sort of logic also leads to the inescapable conclusion that the United States is, at this point in time, a military dictatorship. Don't get it? Well, the United States collaborates with Pakistan, and if Pakistan is a military dictatorship, then...
I do not know if Subhash Bose was a Fascist. I don't think so, but I may be wrong. I do not know if his political views would have aligned with mine. Or even, clearly, what his political views were. I have a vague idea that he admired authoritarian forms of government like in Soviet Union and Germany. I think that he was a military leader first. He did not get a chance to become a political leader. My belief is that India would not be a democracy (for what that's worth) if Subhash Bose had kicked out the English and then taken control of independent India. I think he would have been dictator. Whether he would have been an enlightened one, we'll never know.
2. Wouldn't the Japanese have grabbed India if the British were defeated by the alliance of the Japanese and INA? How was Bose planning to deal with the Japanese in the long term?
I don't know. My belief is that history would have run this course. If Subhash Bose had won, either he (or the Japanese) would have taken control. After the defeat of Japan by the Allied forces, Britain would have attacked India to regain control, possibly with covert American support. This would have been very similar to the French attack on Vietnam after World War II, with possibly similar results.
We'll never know the true course of history for sure of course, but I am almost sure that were I alive then, I would have joined the army. Just to see the sumbitch J. Nehru in fatigues and actually doing something useful for the country for a change. I would risk life and limb to see that.
I would also have liked to see Mohandas Gandhi faced with this delicate choice: Either stick to non-violence in the face of British attack and, in effect, advocate a reversion of free India to British rule, OR take up arms and renounce his cherished notion of non-violence under all conditions. What would he have chosen to become? A violent patriot, or a non-violent traitor? An interesting choice indeed.
Sophia
In my meanderings across the interwebs, I came across the meaning of the name "Sophia". It means "wisdom".
I love these moments. The moments when you see something in a new light. With new eyes. It's like falling in love with a longstanding, familiar friend. I have heard that name a million times. On people, on places. But something fell into place with a click when I read what it means. It makes sense: sophisticated, sophistry, philosophy...Sophia.
Everything is interconnected. We just have to find the connections.
...
Ok, my dweeb moment is over.
I love these moments. The moments when you see something in a new light. With new eyes. It's like falling in love with a longstanding, familiar friend. I have heard that name a million times. On people, on places. But something fell into place with a click when I read what it means. It makes sense: sophisticated, sophistry, philosophy...Sophia.
Everything is interconnected. We just have to find the connections.
...
Ok, my dweeb moment is over.
Sermon #567
Always follow your instincts, even if some of the time they lead you down gangbang alley.
Always.
If you live, you will live better.
The fine print, for legal purposes:
1. The author assumes that users of the above product and/or advice have an understanding of the risks of the product and/or advice. The user acknowledges all liability shall be excluded from all forward-looking statements of benefit made by the author.
2. As in: Your mileage will fukkin vary. If you burn, tough cookies.
3. The user acknowledges that it shall be unreasonable to hold the author liable for any damages arising from the use of the product and/or advice.
4. The product is sold as-is and without any warranty, express or implied.
5. The management reserves the right to withdraw the product and all aftermarket support at any time and without notice.
6. Nyah.
7. The user agrees to not reproduce, duplicate, copy, sell, resell, modify, or otherwise exploit the product for a commercial purpose, without the author's express written consent. Because there shall be consequences.
8. Unless the user does it vewy vewy quietly while the author is watching Law and Order.
9. The author wishes to make it clear and beyond legal doubt that the above advice to follow instincts and suchlike does not apply to certified morons. They should not follow anything. If you are in the situation of being an unmitigated moron and have the creds to prove it, your best bet would be to sit very still and not make any sudden moves. In fact, your goal should be to get through life with a minimum of activity to least do damage to yourself and others.
10. The author has a nagging feeling that the above clause might limit his own use of the product somewhat. The author will ponder this feeling deeply (meaning with the help of tequila mojitos) this weekend.
11. If the ads for this product fool you, it may not necessarily be that the ads are clever; they might just be taking advantage of a pre-existing condition.
12. But your mother still loves you.
13. Like she has a choice.
14. The author will readily exchange all rights and royalties associated with this product for those truffles with the crunchy bits inside.
Always.
If you live, you will live better.
The fine print, for legal purposes:
1. The author assumes that users of the above product and/or advice have an understanding of the risks of the product and/or advice. The user acknowledges all liability shall be excluded from all forward-looking statements of benefit made by the author.
2. As in: Your mileage will fukkin vary. If you burn, tough cookies.
3. The user acknowledges that it shall be unreasonable to hold the author liable for any damages arising from the use of the product and/or advice.
4. The product is sold as-is and without any warranty, express or implied.
5. The management reserves the right to withdraw the product and all aftermarket support at any time and without notice.
6. Nyah.
7. The user agrees to not reproduce, duplicate, copy, sell, resell, modify, or otherwise exploit the product for a commercial purpose, without the author's express written consent. Because there shall be consequences.
8. Unless the user does it vewy vewy quietly while the author is watching Law and Order.
9. The author wishes to make it clear and beyond legal doubt that the above advice to follow instincts and suchlike does not apply to certified morons. They should not follow anything. If you are in the situation of being an unmitigated moron and have the creds to prove it, your best bet would be to sit very still and not make any sudden moves. In fact, your goal should be to get through life with a minimum of activity to least do damage to yourself and others.
10. The author has a nagging feeling that the above clause might limit his own use of the product somewhat. The author will ponder this feeling deeply (meaning with the help of tequila mojitos) this weekend.
11. If the ads for this product fool you, it may not necessarily be that the ads are clever; they might just be taking advantage of a pre-existing condition.
12. But your mother still loves you.
13. Like she has a choice.
14. The author will readily exchange all rights and royalties associated with this product for those truffles with the crunchy bits inside.
Jesus Christ, The Musical
Check out the link below. Absolutely hilarious. I was rolling on the floor laughing.
Click this link.
On the topic of videos, more breathtaking art here: Click.
And from a previous post: Just imagine.
Click this link.
On the topic of videos, more breathtaking art here: Click.
And from a previous post: Just imagine.
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