This NPR essay got me thinking about the nature of the soul.
I once believed as this woman does, that the soul is a ghost in the machine, a thinking, feeling beam of light that's temporarily trapped in a crafty prison of meat. Now I believe otherwise; the still-mysterious interaction of the electricity arcing between our uncharted synapses and modulated by myriad hormonal reactions suggests that what we call the soul proceeds directly from our biochemistry. This in no way refutes or diminishes the idea of the Soul, so why dismiss it as abruptly as, for example, that NPR commentator does? As one of my cyberaquaintances puts it, 2+2=4 unless that makes someone sad. The Catholic Encyclopedia entry on the Soul shudders at the thought that the Soul might be impossible apart from the body since that would work against the idea of a supernatural afterlife. I sniff a certain Pauline hatred (or at least mistrust) of the material, organic world here. Doesn't the New Testament speak of putting on new bodies in heaven? My belief that the Soul is a mystical expression for the biochemical arc of electricity through the brain is no refutation of the afterlife if one regards the body as hardware and the Soul as software. That may sound like the Ghost in the Machine argument, but it's different because it requires the hardware as a means for the software to function, while ghost in the machine regards the body as unneccesary. I'd like to think there's plenty of substantial literature on this subject, and I'm sorry that I haven't done the reading. But neither has that NPR commentator, and she got on NPR.
About Me
- Aaron White
- Go out with you? Why not... Do I like to dance? Of course! Take a walk along the beach tonight? I'd love to. But don't try to touch me. Don't try to touch me. Because that will never happen again. "Past, Present and Future"-The Shangri-Las
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Scramblin' Screwup
The Sidewalk Scramble began Friday night... I met the teammates and followed them to the team leader's house, where we had a story session-I think I made a productive contribution, but the finished product will be essentially the work of the regular Outlaw Film members. I promised to meet them Saturday for the filming but I screwed up by not getting contact info or addresses... so I drove all over the Gardendale/Fultondale area, an area with which I am completely unfamiliar, and I couldn't find my way there. I'm sure that since everything was kind of provisionally planned and my character was a small character part they were able to shoot around it with no problem. I dunno what penance they'll demand, but I hope it doesn't extend beyond buying them a round of drinks at the screening. Still, I'm angry with myself for once again neglecting to make sure I had the practical stuff hammered out.
One observation from the plotting session: sometimes the most important person in the room is the one who says "I liked you idea about Rosebud being his sled," the person who picks up on someone's good but overlooked idea and refocuses attention on it.
One observation from the plotting session: sometimes the most important person in the room is the one who says "I liked you idea about Rosebud being his sled," the person who picks up on someone's good but overlooked idea and refocuses attention on it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Become a Republican!
Admittedly this semi-animated cartoon takes a few semi-cheap shots that could just as accurately be turned against the left, but it's sharp and funny, so hey.
Chilly
Brrr. I remember a few years back I deliberately lived without heat because I loved the cold-the extreme cold-so much. I felt like all the heat of summer became trapped in me, and only extreme chill could empty me of the heat. I guess my blood has thinned and I'm an Alabama person now. I find I actually still like the cold, but I need more protection from it than in days past. At least I've been getting to work earlier lately since it's easier to sleep in when it's hot and muggy, but easier to get up early when it's crisp.
The other week I was about to microwave something when I saw that a big roach had gotten into my microwave. (That's another advantage of cold weather; the bugs disappear.) Although I'm a big slob I do try to keep a hygenic kitchen, but there's not much of a buffer between the outside world and my kitchen and so the little horrors get in. I'm against inflicting pointless torment on any life form; I don't even kill most bugs, but just leave them be or scoot them outside. But I've heard all the stuff about how invurnerable roaches are to radiation, etc., so I figured just this once, in the interest of science... Now I'm dubious about those stories one hears regarding how roaches will survive a nuclear holocaust, because this thing was cooked in seconds.
The worst part? Cooked roach actually smells pretty good.
The other week I was about to microwave something when I saw that a big roach had gotten into my microwave. (That's another advantage of cold weather; the bugs disappear.) Although I'm a big slob I do try to keep a hygenic kitchen, but there's not much of a buffer between the outside world and my kitchen and so the little horrors get in. I'm against inflicting pointless torment on any life form; I don't even kill most bugs, but just leave them be or scoot them outside. But I've heard all the stuff about how invurnerable roaches are to radiation, etc., so I figured just this once, in the interest of science... Now I'm dubious about those stories one hears regarding how roaches will survive a nuclear holocaust, because this thing was cooked in seconds.
The worst part? Cooked roach actually smells pretty good.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Church and all like that
Today I actually got up in time to attend church for the first time since they got the new building (it's been over two years; sheesh!) On the way over I heard an NPR interview with a linguistics professor who suspects "No Child Left Behind" ties into the rapture notion of "Left Behind." It seemed pretty outragiously paranoid to me, but my tendency to give the Bush administration credit for basic not-being-full-of-sewage has mislead me before.
Anyway church was great. Friendly people, some of whom I knew but didn't know attended UU. Excellent music (according to their website the music leader/pianist teaches at Montevallo-her Debussy was delightful!) The guest preacher read a Lord Dunsany article (speaking of writers who both influenced and surpassed Lovecraft) and spoke about the gains and losses we made when we switched from polytheism to monotheism. My kinda church.
Anyway church was great. Friendly people, some of whom I knew but didn't know attended UU. Excellent music (according to their website the music leader/pianist teaches at Montevallo-her Debussy was delightful!) The guest preacher read a Lord Dunsany article (speaking of writers who both influenced and surpassed Lovecraft) and spoke about the gains and losses we made when we switched from polytheism to monotheism. My kinda church.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Ugh.
Today I went to the laundromat, which is usually a purgatorial experience anyway, but today it was even more harrowing than usual. As I approached the place there was a guy sitting in a chair by the door who had that kind of desperate, haggard look that usually precedes a demand for money. He didn't hassle me when I went into the building, but I had to go back to my car for my detergent, and as I came back the second time he said "You're doing some serious laundry, aren't you?" I glanced at him and he seemed like a totally different person from the guy I thought I saw at first; handsome, well dressed and groomed, with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eye. I was quite relieved. About fifteen minutes later he came into the laundromat and struck up a conversation with someone about how he had come from New Orleans, had lost everything, but had made the best of it in Birmingham. He sounded pretty balanced; this wasn't a warmup to a request for money, just a friendly chat. But then a latino family left the laundromat-a family that had simply been doing a load of laundry, not bothering anybody-and this guy burst into a foul-mouthed rant about how much he hates Mexicans and Mexico. Apparently Mexicans come up here and take all our money while failing to love America.
This is the kind of thing that makes me wonder if I'm missing something-why do so many people hate immigrants? Why does the hatred seem to be tied to (or rationalized by) an economic factor? If a shmuck like me can get a good job then I have a hard time buying the idea that Mexicans are taking all the jobs, and since there doesn't seem to be a bunch of wealthy Mexicans in Alabama I don't get the idea that Mexicans take all the money. It seems to me they take the money they can get, just like anybody else. You'd think that living in New Orleans would make a person a bit relaxed about racial and cultural differences, but racism is founded on stubborn blind spots that must not be so easy to erase.
Anyway as I left he had finished his tirade and slumped into a chair (no one had said anything once he started ranting) and he seemed like the sullen, desperate, diminished person I'd seen at first. I wonder if the handsome, charming face was the norm for him before Katrina, and if his friends would recognise the bitter little troll he'd become. Not that I blame him for being sullen and desperate; I would be too. I'm trying (to paraphrase a gospel song) to look past all his faults and see his need... I wonder if he ever ranted against Mexicans before? Maybe he sees them as undeservingly living off the fruit of the country, while he undeservingly has lost his share. Perhaps in a submerged way he thinks they take the equivalent of his fair share; an absurd way to think, but if humans were consistently lucid it would be an unrecognizably different world..
This is the kind of thing that makes me wonder if I'm missing something-why do so many people hate immigrants? Why does the hatred seem to be tied to (or rationalized by) an economic factor? If a shmuck like me can get a good job then I have a hard time buying the idea that Mexicans are taking all the jobs, and since there doesn't seem to be a bunch of wealthy Mexicans in Alabama I don't get the idea that Mexicans take all the money. It seems to me they take the money they can get, just like anybody else. You'd think that living in New Orleans would make a person a bit relaxed about racial and cultural differences, but racism is founded on stubborn blind spots that must not be so easy to erase.
Anyway as I left he had finished his tirade and slumped into a chair (no one had said anything once he started ranting) and he seemed like the sullen, desperate, diminished person I'd seen at first. I wonder if the handsome, charming face was the norm for him before Katrina, and if his friends would recognise the bitter little troll he'd become. Not that I blame him for being sullen and desperate; I would be too. I'm trying (to paraphrase a gospel song) to look past all his faults and see his need... I wonder if he ever ranted against Mexicans before? Maybe he sees them as undeservingly living off the fruit of the country, while he undeservingly has lost his share. Perhaps in a submerged way he thinks they take the equivalent of his fair share; an absurd way to think, but if humans were consistently lucid it would be an unrecognizably different world..
John Rah
This started as an attempt to list a few genre fiction recommendations with pithy commentary; now it's become mini-reviews and you can do as you please with them.
The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson. If H.P. Lovecraft were all he's cracked up to be he might have written something like this; a peculiar novel that reels from mystical visions of our place in the cosmos to attack-of-the-monsters adventure, then to further visions of the planet's future. The conclusion suggests that the mysteries and terrors of the novel are more closely interconnected than is immediately obvious. This book was a clear influence on Lovecraft, who said it would be a perfect novel if only it didn't have those dreadful three pages about icky mushy kissing stuff. If you, unlike Lovecraft, aren't a mewling little racist gimp who's scared of anything with a vagina then you probably won't mind the brief allusions to lost love, especially since they heighten the stakes for the unnamed protagonist.
There's a comic book version by famed cartoonist Robert Corben, and it's kind of like the Emerson, Lake and Palmer versions of orchestral compositions; bombastic but interesting. It's really good Corben; his three-dimensional monsters have real, sculptural mass, as if they've been carved out of enormous slabs of meat. Writer Simon Revelstroke contributes the script, which rings I-hope-deliberate changes on the plot (changing the protagonist's frightened sister into an incestuous amazon, and giving short shrift to the more philosophical passages of the novel.
The Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake. Tolkien's all well and good, but Brian Aldiss's comparision of LotR with Gormenghast (In Billion-Year Spree, his critical history of SF and Fantasy literature) makes a pretty stong case for prefering the latter. Certainly lovers of dense, ornate language will find more to love in Peake's work, but the languid plotlessness that characterizes much of the tale will test the patience of readers who are impatient for someone to make a savings throw. In fact most of the first book, Titus Groan, consists of richly poetic introductions to the people and places of Gormenghast, a crumbling city-palace where a gallery of grotesques carry out ancient, useless rituals. The second novel, Gormenghast, is where most of the actual story takes place as the british class struggle filters through a sort of euro-Chinese culture (Peake's father was a diplomat to China, and little Mervyn spent much of his boyhood there.) In fact the more I learn about the British class system the better I understand, and the more I respect, this story. Book Three, Titus Alone, is sadly unfinished due to the cerebal palsy that wrecked Peake's health and had him consigned to a sanitarium. The published book is essentially a first draft, and the result is a bit like looking at unpolished marble fresh from the quarry after touring a brilliantly designed and perfectly constructed mansion of polished marble. Angsy, callow teen Titus's misadventures in the outside world seem a bit random to this reader, although there's a wonderfully wicked sequence in which a spurned lover forces him into a nasty parody of Gormenghast. An absurdly over-the-top misogyny shows up here; one wonders if Peake would have softened it in rewrites or if this was a new development. While his female characters in the other books were terribly limited creatures they nonetheless had positive qualities, however compensatory, and one could sense some degree of authorial approval for them.
The BBC miniseries is a mixed bag; it boasts a dream cast, splendid costumes and some ideal sets. The special effects are more than a bit Doctor Who-ish and the action scenes are complete writeoffs (what few action sequences there are in the books are wonderfully choreographed, begging to be realized with sophisticated staging that they just don't get from the Beeb.) And while the sets are good one never really gets a strong sense of place; in the books the many rooms and halls of Gormenghast are as important as the freaks who inhabit them, and much is made of how all the seperate locations interrelate. The miniseries needed a director who could, like Peter Jackson or Peter Greenaway, not only show us a bunch of cool sets but show us how people moved through them, and how they all intertwined. There's a making-of book that lets us really soak in the costumes and sets; it's actually a lot closer to the ideal visual representation of Gormenghast the the choppily editid show. What's more, key dramatic sequences and grace notes from the books are attempted but muffed; Titus's pseudo-baptismal ritual takes a taboo turn that is the climax of the first novel, but is so badly presented on the miniseries that it doesn't register at all. I suspect the direction's to blame; the script itself is a praiseworthy bit of work, turning a sprawling and epic 700 page slab of prose into a tight four-hour tale, not by doing violence to the plot but by restructuring the plot points and finding ways to blend elements which in the books were handled seperately. Read at least the two finished books; then watch the mini for the cast and clothes. (The opening theme song's a musical setting of a poem from the books and is an ideal opener.) The making-of documentary on the DVD has some interesting and insightful comments from the cast.
The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson. If H.P. Lovecraft were all he's cracked up to be he might have written something like this; a peculiar novel that reels from mystical visions of our place in the cosmos to attack-of-the-monsters adventure, then to further visions of the planet's future. The conclusion suggests that the mysteries and terrors of the novel are more closely interconnected than is immediately obvious. This book was a clear influence on Lovecraft, who said it would be a perfect novel if only it didn't have those dreadful three pages about icky mushy kissing stuff. If you, unlike Lovecraft, aren't a mewling little racist gimp who's scared of anything with a vagina then you probably won't mind the brief allusions to lost love, especially since they heighten the stakes for the unnamed protagonist.
There's a comic book version by famed cartoonist Robert Corben, and it's kind of like the Emerson, Lake and Palmer versions of orchestral compositions; bombastic but interesting. It's really good Corben; his three-dimensional monsters have real, sculptural mass, as if they've been carved out of enormous slabs of meat. Writer Simon Revelstroke contributes the script, which rings I-hope-deliberate changes on the plot (changing the protagonist's frightened sister into an incestuous amazon, and giving short shrift to the more philosophical passages of the novel.
The Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake. Tolkien's all well and good, but Brian Aldiss's comparision of LotR with Gormenghast (In Billion-Year Spree, his critical history of SF and Fantasy literature) makes a pretty stong case for prefering the latter. Certainly lovers of dense, ornate language will find more to love in Peake's work, but the languid plotlessness that characterizes much of the tale will test the patience of readers who are impatient for someone to make a savings throw. In fact most of the first book, Titus Groan, consists of richly poetic introductions to the people and places of Gormenghast, a crumbling city-palace where a gallery of grotesques carry out ancient, useless rituals. The second novel, Gormenghast, is where most of the actual story takes place as the british class struggle filters through a sort of euro-Chinese culture (Peake's father was a diplomat to China, and little Mervyn spent much of his boyhood there.) In fact the more I learn about the British class system the better I understand, and the more I respect, this story. Book Three, Titus Alone, is sadly unfinished due to the cerebal palsy that wrecked Peake's health and had him consigned to a sanitarium. The published book is essentially a first draft, and the result is a bit like looking at unpolished marble fresh from the quarry after touring a brilliantly designed and perfectly constructed mansion of polished marble. Angsy, callow teen Titus's misadventures in the outside world seem a bit random to this reader, although there's a wonderfully wicked sequence in which a spurned lover forces him into a nasty parody of Gormenghast. An absurdly over-the-top misogyny shows up here; one wonders if Peake would have softened it in rewrites or if this was a new development. While his female characters in the other books were terribly limited creatures they nonetheless had positive qualities, however compensatory, and one could sense some degree of authorial approval for them.
The BBC miniseries is a mixed bag; it boasts a dream cast, splendid costumes and some ideal sets. The special effects are more than a bit Doctor Who-ish and the action scenes are complete writeoffs (what few action sequences there are in the books are wonderfully choreographed, begging to be realized with sophisticated staging that they just don't get from the Beeb.) And while the sets are good one never really gets a strong sense of place; in the books the many rooms and halls of Gormenghast are as important as the freaks who inhabit them, and much is made of how all the seperate locations interrelate. The miniseries needed a director who could, like Peter Jackson or Peter Greenaway, not only show us a bunch of cool sets but show us how people moved through them, and how they all intertwined. There's a making-of book that lets us really soak in the costumes and sets; it's actually a lot closer to the ideal visual representation of Gormenghast the the choppily editid show. What's more, key dramatic sequences and grace notes from the books are attempted but muffed; Titus's pseudo-baptismal ritual takes a taboo turn that is the climax of the first novel, but is so badly presented on the miniseries that it doesn't register at all. I suspect the direction's to blame; the script itself is a praiseworthy bit of work, turning a sprawling and epic 700 page slab of prose into a tight four-hour tale, not by doing violence to the plot but by restructuring the plot points and finding ways to blend elements which in the books were handled seperately. Read at least the two finished books; then watch the mini for the cast and clothes. (The opening theme song's a musical setting of a poem from the books and is an ideal opener.) The making-of documentary on the DVD has some interesting and insightful comments from the cast.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Happy!
Happy birthday to Elliot David Mathews, born today to Scarlett and Brian "Brain" Mathews! Happy birthgiving day to Scarlett! Elliot's got two big sisters, so who knows if he'll grow up babied or bruised. Hopefully a little bit of both.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Moderate Update
It looks like I'm finally gonna be doing a Sidewalk Scramble! My friend and improv associate Debbie S---- told me her group needs more actors, and I've been lusting after a chance to do a Scramble for years now. Now the group just has to accept me on Debbie's say-so. I also got an Email from another friend and improv associate, Chris D----, insisting that the Feminist Debutante Guild get back together for a show or three. The Guild was just on the cusp of becoming something really special when various factors led to our taking a year-long hiatus, so I'd love to see if we can try to start anew. Granted, I've sworn off doing theatre for the rest of the year in an apparently futile effort to focus on work and exercise, but obviously I haven't gone Straight Edge if I'm diving into Scramble and improv activity. I'm pretty rusty on the improv, but it's always good for me to get back into it.
A big shout out to Jennifer W., production design guru for many local film things, who's evidently so freakishly obsessed with me that she's found my blog. Here's hoping she won't set me on fire if I've said something snarky about one of her productions.
Check this out: Time magazine's list of the hundred best english-language novels since 1923. I've only glanced at it in passing, and have no immediate objections.
A cool blog here. Kenneth Hite writes role-playing supplements and stuff; I haven't played a role-playing game in years (not since I started improv) but I buy his stuff because he's like the Alan Moore of role-playing games. Check out his Suppressed Transmission books to see what I'm talking about. Anyway please note that a footnote to his latest post is the only review of Donnie Darko you'll ever need.
A big shout out to Jennifer W., production design guru for many local film things, who's evidently so freakishly obsessed with me that she's found my blog. Here's hoping she won't set me on fire if I've said something snarky about one of her productions.
Check this out: Time magazine's list of the hundred best english-language novels since 1923. I've only glanced at it in passing, and have no immediate objections.
A cool blog here. Kenneth Hite writes role-playing supplements and stuff; I haven't played a role-playing game in years (not since I started improv) but I buy his stuff because he's like the Alan Moore of role-playing games. Check out his Suppressed Transmission books to see what I'm talking about. Anyway please note that a footnote to his latest post is the only review of Donnie Darko you'll ever need.
Monday, October 17, 2005
This, That
Kim Riegel of www.kimriegel.com Tells me she's making additions to her website, which already has some splendid art on it.
I forgot to mention another couple performers who really delivered the goods in the Terrific New Theatre production of Dearly Departed-Penny Thomas and Donna Littlepage. Penny played the truth of her character (a less manic role than most in the show; a goodhearted housewife who tried to get along with everyone) and never hit a false note; a lovely performance. Donna Littlepage played a tart-tongued evangelical woman with vinegar and pepper. Good stuff!
I forgot to mention another couple performers who really delivered the goods in the Terrific New Theatre production of Dearly Departed-Penny Thomas and Donna Littlepage. Penny played the truth of her character (a less manic role than most in the show; a goodhearted housewife who tried to get along with everyone) and never hit a false note; a lovely performance. Donna Littlepage played a tart-tongued evangelical woman with vinegar and pepper. Good stuff!
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Later That Day.
I hesitate to post this because it might come back to bite me, but here's a couple of wise lessons I've been taught about acting that came to mind tonight:
Talk to your scene partner. Anytime there's a dialogue onstage, don't "act" at the other performers; talk to them.
Never tell stories. If you've got a big long monologue about how your kitten died, don't play it as if your objective as the character is to explain how your kitten died; telling the story is a means to an end. Figure out what that end is and use the story as a tactic to achieve that end.
Never play an emotion. Your objective isn't to feel an emotion; it's to achieve something. The emotions will rise out of the striving.
Anyway, the show was an unevenly acted broad comedy; drink your wine and wait for the funny bits. My heroine Melissa B. stole the show with a one-scene character. A guy named Capers D. played a preacher, and he rocked out! I've seen him before in a best-left-unmentioned show elsewhere, and he lit up the stage there. There's some inexplicable gonzo element to what I've seen of his work that takes it beyond mere craft, though he has craft as well. There were other performances I enjoyed: Thom S. channeled Divine at her most overwrought in a drag role, and Shanda B. got to wear a big fat suit. Fat suits fill me with joy. They're never not funny. Sadly she didn't get to do much; she did a flawless, splendid monologue in another TNT show that really made me want to see more from her.
The place was packed, it being closing night. Why wasn't BFT packed for closing night of First Lady Suite? It was a good show! I hate to see people work so hard on a good production and get nothing for it.
Talk to your scene partner. Anytime there's a dialogue onstage, don't "act" at the other performers; talk to them.
Never tell stories. If you've got a big long monologue about how your kitten died, don't play it as if your objective as the character is to explain how your kitten died; telling the story is a means to an end. Figure out what that end is and use the story as a tactic to achieve that end.
Never play an emotion. Your objective isn't to feel an emotion; it's to achieve something. The emotions will rise out of the striving.
Anyway, the show was an unevenly acted broad comedy; drink your wine and wait for the funny bits. My heroine Melissa B. stole the show with a one-scene character. A guy named Capers D. played a preacher, and he rocked out! I've seen him before in a best-left-unmentioned show elsewhere, and he lit up the stage there. There's some inexplicable gonzo element to what I've seen of his work that takes it beyond mere craft, though he has craft as well. There were other performances I enjoyed: Thom S. channeled Divine at her most overwrought in a drag role, and Shanda B. got to wear a big fat suit. Fat suits fill me with joy. They're never not funny. Sadly she didn't get to do much; she did a flawless, splendid monologue in another TNT show that really made me want to see more from her.
The place was packed, it being closing night. Why wasn't BFT packed for closing night of First Lady Suite? It was a good show! I hate to see people work so hard on a good production and get nothing for it.
A day.
Tonight I'm going to see Dearly Departed, a play at Terrific New Theatre. I have several aquaintances in the cast, and director Carl S. hasn't let me down yet. I had a date but she bailed; I've gotten an emergency backup date (we're talking just-friends date now) and all's well (edit: she bailed too).
As it happens I neglected to mention the last show I saw in town:, First Lady Suite. I'll try to post my thoughts when it isn't sunny out...
As it happens I neglected to mention the last show I saw in town:, First Lady Suite. I'll try to post my thoughts when it isn't sunny out...
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Sho'Case!
Finally DC has a counterpart to the Marvel comics Essentials line-classic (aka old) comics in cheap black-and-white newsprint editions, with lots of comics for the money! I picked up the Metamorpho book yesterday, and a big wet kiss goes out to whomever decided to start the line with underhyped but groovy comics like this! Metamorpho is the usual dopey superhero, but the stories have a verve and energy that make them pop. It's from right around the time that the basic superhero paradigm was no longer a novelty and they had to find fresh ways to play with it without abandoning the basic parameters of the genre; Ramona Fradon, Joe Orlando and Sal Trapini really knew how to illustrate this kind of stuff. It's funny, cheerful, gleefully absurd.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
May I see your ID please?
Here's the core of my problem with Intelligent Design/Creationism (And let's face it, the former is simply a key element-the Argument From Design-of the latter gussied up in a lab coat.) It assumes that complexity, usefulness, whatever characteristics one could attribute to the universe or any of its aspects, are of necessity the products of a guiding Intelligence. While I sympathize with the conclusion this argument seeks to justify-a trancendent, loving God-I don't think this is a very hardy argument for it. I suspect we overvalue intelligence, will, and sentience for the same reason a dog overvalues teeth, jaws and slobber-it's what we've got to work with, so we see the world through that reality tunnel. Let's boil down all the wonderful things we might use as proof of design to "complexity" (you can insert your adjective of choice, such as beauty, usefulness, whatever.) Early on there was Complexity, and our ancestors observed it, studied it, and using their intelligence, will and so on, emulated it. Then somewhere along the way we assumed that intelligence was a key ingredient in the generation of complexity, since after all we use our intelligence to create our works of complexity. But all we can really say for certain is that intelligence is a key ingredient in how we create our works of complexity, not how any and all works of complexity come to be.
I know this isn't a new response to Intelligent Design, but since intelligent design isn't a fresh response to Evolutionary theory it's only appropo. Old wine, old wineskins.
I know this isn't a new response to Intelligent Design, but since intelligent design isn't a fresh response to Evolutionary theory it's only appropo. Old wine, old wineskins.
Comments
Oops! I just noticed that I had this here thing set up so that you had to have a Blogger account and be signed in to leave comments. No more! Now I've adjusted the settings so that all the riffraff can come in and spray graffitti on the walls. Noblesse oblige and all that.
Monday, October 10, 2005
After snarking on the Vatican I should mention that they've apparently worked out a deal whereby gay men who can stay chaste for a couple years can be priests (in the rough draft I accidentally wrote this as "can bone priests," but I swear it was a typo.) I'm sure the all-or-nothing crowd on both sides of the issue are cranky, but I'd call it a perfectly reasonable compromise. Nice work, Holy See!
I remembered a few more funny comics I forgot to mention:
Cromartie High School. This is a manga that non-manga fans might enjoy, about a low-grade high school full of thugs and wannabe thugs. It understands the comic value of sincere dullwittedness. One of my favorite gags involves a tough, smart gang leader who gets motion sick easily, but always has to travel. The comic never goes the obvious route of vomiting humor; instead it milks laughs out of the guy's ludicrous attempts to keep his cool and not let on how sick he is: micromanaging peoples' conversations so they won't talk about things that might upset him, etc. The art is pretty clip-arty, but it works in much the same way those manipulated "found-object" figures on shows like Sealab do. Volume 1 is a scream; Volume two has major sophmore slump, but still has a few laugh-out-loud bits. I'm told Volume 3 ups the ante considerably, but I haven't gotten that far yet..
I'll get to the others when I'm bored. Other planned when-I'm-bored projects include comparing and contrasting Mervyn Peake's Titus novels to one another and to the BBC miniseries Gormenghast, an account of my days in the improv troupe Torrential Downplay, and the tale of the local production of Angels in America II (to go with my largely-ignored account of AiA1.).
I remembered a few more funny comics I forgot to mention:
Cromartie High School. This is a manga that non-manga fans might enjoy, about a low-grade high school full of thugs and wannabe thugs. It understands the comic value of sincere dullwittedness. One of my favorite gags involves a tough, smart gang leader who gets motion sick easily, but always has to travel. The comic never goes the obvious route of vomiting humor; instead it milks laughs out of the guy's ludicrous attempts to keep his cool and not let on how sick he is: micromanaging peoples' conversations so they won't talk about things that might upset him, etc. The art is pretty clip-arty, but it works in much the same way those manipulated "found-object" figures on shows like Sealab do. Volume 1 is a scream; Volume two has major sophmore slump, but still has a few laugh-out-loud bits. I'm told Volume 3 ups the ante considerably, but I haven't gotten that far yet..
I'll get to the others when I'm bored. Other planned when-I'm-bored projects include comparing and contrasting Mervyn Peake's Titus novels to one another and to the BBC miniseries Gormenghast, an account of my days in the improv troupe Torrential Downplay, and the tale of the local production of Angels in America II (to go with my largely-ignored account of AiA1.).
Hole in your old brown overcoat
I heard a couple of interesting items on the radio (NPR natch) today:
Apparently there is a disease called asperger's syndrome in which you are pretty smart but a daydreaming socially inept dingdong who can't get it together. I don't know how they test you for this, but I don't need the test; I got it. The question is, can I get some kind of aid for it? By aid I mean cash.
Also there was a story about how the government in Connecticut has decided to require insurance companies to provide coverage for infertility treatments for patients up to 40 years of age. This is pretty unusual; a lobbyist for Conn. health plans says it'll be as expensive as any mandate the legislature has ever passed, and the forty-year cutoff was intended to reign in the total cost a bit. So naturally they're hearing howls of entitled rage from women over forty who haven't gotten wind of this newfangled "adoption" thing they've got now. Pardon my insensitivity, but the last I checked there wasn't a human being shortage; I certainly don't think any prospective parents should be prevented from providing love and care to a child, but why not give that love to a child that currently exists? And before anyone accuses me of sexist callousness let me point out that I take a dim view of erectile disfunction pills being covered by anything other than out-of-pocket money, no pun intended. Why should your and my insurance rates go up because people refuse to adopt, use their tongues, or do without? I have to pay for anything I do that involves the reproductive system; is it a hate crime that Blue Cross doesn't pay for my dates? Giving birth is to women over forty what nailing a prom queen is to men over forty; if you can, good on ya, but you're left to you're own devices.
Next time on But Don't Try To Touch Me: kids these days with their jitterbug and bathtub gin, why back in my day we gathered around the piano-forte and sang hymns together.
In other words feel free to set me straight on this issue.
BTW it occured to me today that the word "responsibility" seems to combine the words "response" and "ability" so responsibility consists, perhaps, of an ability to respond. This thought may prove useful when trying to determine who can be held responsible for what.
Edit: I just realized I have an older married female friend who's having infertility treatments, but I believe she's 39 so she scoots in under the bar and hopefully won't beat me if and when she reads this. As I say I'm open to reconsideration; the above rant was of the off-the-cuff, seat-of-pants, ill-thought-out variety.
Apparently there is a disease called asperger's syndrome in which you are pretty smart but a daydreaming socially inept dingdong who can't get it together. I don't know how they test you for this, but I don't need the test; I got it. The question is, can I get some kind of aid for it? By aid I mean cash.
Also there was a story about how the government in Connecticut has decided to require insurance companies to provide coverage for infertility treatments for patients up to 40 years of age. This is pretty unusual; a lobbyist for Conn. health plans says it'll be as expensive as any mandate the legislature has ever passed, and the forty-year cutoff was intended to reign in the total cost a bit. So naturally they're hearing howls of entitled rage from women over forty who haven't gotten wind of this newfangled "adoption" thing they've got now. Pardon my insensitivity, but the last I checked there wasn't a human being shortage; I certainly don't think any prospective parents should be prevented from providing love and care to a child, but why not give that love to a child that currently exists? And before anyone accuses me of sexist callousness let me point out that I take a dim view of erectile disfunction pills being covered by anything other than out-of-pocket money, no pun intended. Why should your and my insurance rates go up because people refuse to adopt, use their tongues, or do without? I have to pay for anything I do that involves the reproductive system; is it a hate crime that Blue Cross doesn't pay for my dates? Giving birth is to women over forty what nailing a prom queen is to men over forty; if you can, good on ya, but you're left to you're own devices.
Next time on But Don't Try To Touch Me: kids these days with their jitterbug and bathtub gin, why back in my day we gathered around the piano-forte and sang hymns together.
In other words feel free to set me straight on this issue.
BTW it occured to me today that the word "responsibility" seems to combine the words "response" and "ability" so responsibility consists, perhaps, of an ability to respond. This thought may prove useful when trying to determine who can be held responsible for what.
Edit: I just realized I have an older married female friend who's having infertility treatments, but I believe she's 39 so she scoots in under the bar and hopefully won't beat me if and when she reads this. As I say I'm open to reconsideration; the above rant was of the off-the-cuff, seat-of-pants, ill-thought-out variety.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Hide and Creep
I've now seen the first twenty minutes or so of a locally produced zombie movie called Hide and Creep, the kind of thing I wouldn't watch if I didn't have friends in it. It's pretty garden-variety drivein filler so far, but there's one specific scene I feel driven to complain about. One character, played by the writer/co-director, is presented as a guy who isn't taken in by dumbed-down pop culture, a guy who can seperate the wheat from the chaff. But in one scene (that has no apparent effect on the plot so far; unless there's a payoff later in the film it seems to be a mere vanity bit for the writer/performer) he tries to order a coke in a restaraunt, only to go into a tirade when he's told they only have Pepsi. The thrust of his would-be Bill Hickish rant is that he isn't fooled by Pepsi's marketing department; Coke is the real thing, and Communist China doesn't let you choose what you want to drink either. And because it's a vanity scene for the writer/performer the server just has to stand there and take it, instead of riposting that for a guy who's awfully proud to not be a dupe for Pepsi's marketing department, he sure is presenting his hindquarters to the Coke marketing department Taking sides in the sugar-water wars is a naive person's idea of how to appear sophisticated; it's like when I was in high school and I disdained people who couldn't recognise the musical sophistication of Yes.
So why do I care about such tepid would-be cleverness in a home-grown film? I dunno why it gets under my skin, but I suspect it has something to do with my wish for folks who are 1. in local films, 2. really talented and 3. my friends to get work that is equal to their talents. Also I hate hearing blowhards bellow their opinions, especially if they're taking it out on someone. This despite the fact that I am one of those blowhards. It's a bit like smelling farts; other peoples' are disgusting, but one's own are fascinating. At least I saved this smelly little rant for the blog instead of Taj India's lunch buffet. Petulant jeremiads on minor topics don't bother me in print; it's that self-satisfied tone of voice that we all get when in rant mode that bugs me. Of course it's always one's own bad habits that most annoy one when they manifest in other people...
So why do I care about such tepid would-be cleverness in a home-grown film? I dunno why it gets under my skin, but I suspect it has something to do with my wish for folks who are 1. in local films, 2. really talented and 3. my friends to get work that is equal to their talents. Also I hate hearing blowhards bellow their opinions, especially if they're taking it out on someone. This despite the fact that I am one of those blowhards. It's a bit like smelling farts; other peoples' are disgusting, but one's own are fascinating. At least I saved this smelly little rant for the blog instead of Taj India's lunch buffet. Petulant jeremiads on minor topics don't bother me in print; it's that self-satisfied tone of voice that we all get when in rant mode that bugs me. Of course it's always one's own bad habits that most annoy one when they manifest in other people...
Why I Love Autumn
Every summer I forget how good it feels to lie in bed with the sensation that it's cold out, but warm under the covers. I know no more peaceful feeling.
On the other hand I've become a true Alabama person over the years, meaning I now like heat and fear extreme cold. I'll be okay for a few months but when winter hits I'll be glum about it. It wasn't that long ago I would leave the heat off and revel in freezing temperatures; it felt like all the dreadful heat of summer was being washed out of my body. Now it just feels cold. But during Autumn everything's perfectly balanced; cool but not cold, and balanced between the color of summer and the starkness of winter.
On the other hand I've become a true Alabama person over the years, meaning I now like heat and fear extreme cold. I'll be okay for a few months but when winter hits I'll be glum about it. It wasn't that long ago I would leave the heat off and revel in freezing temperatures; it felt like all the dreadful heat of summer was being washed out of my body. Now it just feels cold. But during Autumn everything's perfectly balanced; cool but not cold, and balanced between the color of summer and the starkness of winter.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Comics
Edit 5/10/2013: I recently posted comments on a few comics-related websites, and shortly thereafter someone looked at this post. Please note that I wrote this language-of-hype-trying-to-serve-as-critical-insight post 8 long years ago. I've grown, okay?
A few funny comic books:
Plastic Man. The current version of Plastic Man is by Kyle Baker, one of the funniest people in comics. His graphic novels The Cowboy Wally Show and Why I Hate Saturn knocked readers out with some of the smartest, funniest writing in comics, and witty, expressive but underplayed art. Baker's characters are always really sharp actors. His Plastic Man is done in a more Warner Bros. style of cartooniness, and Baker's mastery of that kind of humor makes me wonder why he isn't running Warner Bros. animation department now. He writes and draws the whole comic himself, which is quite unusual for a regular color comic, with the occasional fill-in issue by Scott Morse, another comics virtuoso whose stuff is always really impressively drawn and/or painted but which lacks Baker's tangy gag craftsmanship.
Tales Designed to Thrizzle. This is by Michael Kupperman, who does a lot of illustration work for upscale clientele, but his fans know him primarily for his absurd gag cartooning. His drawings tends to look like really high-grade clip art and his jokes are similar to the type you get on the hipper Cartoon Network shows, but he was there first. A favorite sample gag: the cover of a comic titled Two-Fisted Poe shows Edgar Allen Poe clobbering a crook and saying: "Quoth the Raven: LIGHTS OUT!"
Franklin Richards. This is a one-shot from Marvel Comics about Sue (Invisible Woman) and Reed (Mister Fantastic) Richards of the Fantastic Four. Basically it's Richie Rich with off-brand Calvin and Hobbes style art. Eh. You'd do better to buy an actual issue of Richie Rich.
I know I'm missing something (edit: meaning "I'm forgetting a title or two" rather than the manner in which I usually miss something).
The weather's suddenly turned Autumnal. Very pleasant!
A few funny comic books:
Plastic Man. The current version of Plastic Man is by Kyle Baker, one of the funniest people in comics. His graphic novels The Cowboy Wally Show and Why I Hate Saturn knocked readers out with some of the smartest, funniest writing in comics, and witty, expressive but underplayed art. Baker's characters are always really sharp actors. His Plastic Man is done in a more Warner Bros. style of cartooniness, and Baker's mastery of that kind of humor makes me wonder why he isn't running Warner Bros. animation department now. He writes and draws the whole comic himself, which is quite unusual for a regular color comic, with the occasional fill-in issue by Scott Morse, another comics virtuoso whose stuff is always really impressively drawn and/or painted but which lacks Baker's tangy gag craftsmanship.
Tales Designed to Thrizzle. This is by Michael Kupperman, who does a lot of illustration work for upscale clientele, but his fans know him primarily for his absurd gag cartooning. His drawings tends to look like really high-grade clip art and his jokes are similar to the type you get on the hipper Cartoon Network shows, but he was there first. A favorite sample gag: the cover of a comic titled Two-Fisted Poe shows Edgar Allen Poe clobbering a crook and saying: "Quoth the Raven: LIGHTS OUT!"
Franklin Richards. This is a one-shot from Marvel Comics about Sue (Invisible Woman) and Reed (Mister Fantastic) Richards of the Fantastic Four. Basically it's Richie Rich with off-brand Calvin and Hobbes style art. Eh. You'd do better to buy an actual issue of Richie Rich.
I know I'm missing something (edit: meaning "I'm forgetting a title or two" rather than the manner in which I usually miss something).
The weather's suddenly turned Autumnal. Very pleasant!
Friday, October 07, 2005
Funny funnies.
I said I'd run down some funny comic books; I didn't say I'd post about them on the blog! Sorry to my legion of fans, but I decided to make eyes at my cute neighbor instead of sit around talking to whomever reads this about comics. We'll try for tonight!
BTW I got a phishing email from a bogus Ebay site trying to dupe me into giving them personal info. I forwarded it to the real Ebay and they confirmed its obvious bogosity. I know this is a common problem and you are probably already aware of it; it's just that until it happens to my solipsistic self it's only a rumor.
BTW I got a phishing email from a bogus Ebay site trying to dupe me into giving them personal info. I forwarded it to the real Ebay and they confirmed its obvious bogosity. I know this is a common problem and you are probably already aware of it; it's just that until it happens to my solipsistic self it's only a rumor.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Post-Birthday
No dears, I haven't abandoned you-I tried to post last night but Blogger was down. But just to let you know how much I love you, consider this; Blogger's trying to get me to have ads on this blog, but I wouldn't do that to you. Not even for the money they assure me I'd be making. I'm living my life as a refutation of the idea that you need a lot of money to live a fulfilling life. Is it any wonder I'm single?
There is one way that money can buy you happiness, however, and that is by buying funny comic books. Tonight I'll run down some current highlights of this sadly neglected genre, which humor cartoonist Sam Henderson describes as being like the trampy girl at school-all the guys like what she does but they don't respect her.
Anyway there's not much news in my life post-birthday, which was quietly nice the way a good Eric Rohmer film is. Far less gloomy than I expected, what with the mortality concerns and all.
There is one way that money can buy you happiness, however, and that is by buying funny comic books. Tonight I'll run down some current highlights of this sadly neglected genre, which humor cartoonist Sam Henderson describes as being like the trampy girl at school-all the guys like what she does but they don't respect her.
Anyway there's not much news in my life post-birthday, which was quietly nice the way a good Eric Rohmer film is. Far less gloomy than I expected, what with the mortality concerns and all.
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