September 20, 2011
September 16, 2011
It was with some difficulty that I restrained myself from posting the following on a tedious Google+ comment thread regarding, ostensibly, climate change. The comments were on someone else's post -- the ever-splendid Dunx's, to be precise. The more voluble other commentators were drearily self-regarding Mid-Western code monkeys paying tedious lip-service to the ghastly scriptures of our time. I felt bound by the rules of hospitality not to pollute Dunx's stream with venom. It's one of the perils of the new social networking age. At least on one's own blog one can say whatever one fucking pleases, safe in the knowledge that in all likelihood not a single motherfucker will read it.
So, let's see.
(i) I will shortly bow out of this because arguing with Americans is like arguing with Christians -- sets, obviously, with a significant intersection -- if for no other reason than that none of you fucking syphilitic cunts appreciates proper shit-bastard arse-buggering swearing.
(ii) If you start out a six paragraph comment with "I am simply not qualified to comment" you probably shouldn't expect what follows to be taken seriously.
(iii) If the biggest problem in the green energy movement is cronyism then break out the champagne because we all have it made. Everything's going to be fine and the world is in fucking clover.
(iv) It never hurts to be reminded that libertarianism makes you stupid. At some point I will also get around to posting my explanation of free market economics as a cargo cult. In the meantime, feel free to point out how unfettered markets have actually achieved anything of value that you can explain in a generalisable fashion. Doctrinal assertions will not suffice. I expect equations. Otherwise go fuck yourselves.
(v) No, computer science is not science. For that matter, software engineering isn't engineering. Coding does not give you a meaningful understanding of reality. And yes, I write as a recovering coder with a keen appreciation of the contradictions inherent in making such an assertion. I can also introduce you to a Cretan acquaintance if you'd like.
Hackers who argue the culpability of scientists on the basis of profiteering haven't a single fucking leg to stand on between the millions of them. If you think you have something to add beyond "WAAAH! I DON'T WANT THE SITUATION TO BE XYZ! I LIKE THINGS AS THEY ARE! JUST GIVE ME MORE MONEY!" then you are wrong. You are basically just making grunting animal noises. Please shut the fuck up.
I know, it's all so easy to say this shit on the home turf of Walky Talky. Failing to engage the hapless peripheral forces of darkness on the field of battle is pure cowardice, a gross abdication of intellectual responsibility.
Well fuck you too, you putrescent spacehoppers. Fuck fuck fuck fuck cunting fucking fuck.
I fucking give the fuck up.
Yes, I am a teensy bit drunk. Why do you ask?
The Morphail Effect
So, this happened. Just one fleck of fallout from the interminable process of wrapping up the PhD. There have been plenty of others that needn't distract us here. As far as I am concerned the thing is pretty much done, but there are doubtless a few more false dawns to weather yet. It will take truculence, triage and probably some grudging concessions before the fucking thing finally gets consigned to the dustbin of scientific history in which it clearly belongs.
In any case, an IonView page was needed, and there it is. Eventually I may get around to reorganising things around here so that it is easier to find stuff like software and photos and so on, but there doesn't seem any particular hurry.
All sorts of outings probably merit fuller mentions, but since that doesn't seem to be happening here are some capsules. I enjoyed Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui's TeZukA a lot, although it didn't seem quite finished -- should lose 15 minutes, at least one fight sequence and (especially) the interval. Amanda Palmer's Heaven show was one of the best gigs I've seen in years, packed with guests and randomness and just enormous fun from beginning to end, despite one or two joyless emo caricatures in the audience pouting because everyone was having too much of a good time. Kill List was gobsmackingly unpleasant, and sort of interesting in its shifting Brit pastichery, but packed less punch than it should because the characters were impossible to give a toss about and the final slide into Wicker Man territory was just plain silly. Last night Kym took me to see a cappella lad-band The Magnets, who were enjoyable and technically accomplished but it was a bit hard to see who their audience was meant to be.
In Michael Moorcock's sf&f multiverse, time travel into the past is (in some defiantly non-mechanistic way) possible, but it is made difficult by a kind of chronological inertia that resists paradox. Any hint of anachronism can lead to unceremonious eviction from the time stream. Successful chrononauts, of whom there are few, avoid this fate by immersing themselves in the visited period to such an extent that they more or less forget they were ever anyone anywhere anywhen else. One such traveller, at least in some of his very many manifestations, is Jerry Cornelius.
There is an extended, slightly unfocused, film festival in town at the moment to celebrate the Scala, the notorious art-cum-grindhouse repertory fleapit at which I used to work. The only festival event I've caught so far was a double of John Boorman's Zardoz with the film version of Moorcock's first Cornelius novel, The Final Programme. Suffice to say that both films are so profoundly of their time that they would have nothing to fear from the Morphail Effect.