The Itinerant Mirror

Searching for a new search machine?

2012-02-03T20:44:00.003+01:00

Who could blame you?
If anything, one could blame you for not doing so.

We use Scroogle.
And we like it. A lot.
Not least because of its sense of humour.

True, you often encounter this page:

Forbidden

so sorry...

Google is temporarily blocking this Scroogle server.

Please wait ten minutes before trying again.

Yes, Scroogle is upset with Google.

1. Google handles 1 billion searches per day, while Scroogle handles 350,000 searches per day. This means that Scroogle is 0.035 percent of Google's load.

2. Google uses 900,000 servers, while Scroogle leases just six low-end dedicated servers.

3. Google has billions and billions of dollars in the bank, while Scroogle is a recognized public charity and survives on modest donations averaging $43 per day.

4. For more than seven years, Scroogle has always made serious efforts to detect and block any and all bots. Almost every Scroogle searcher is a live person clicking on a mouse. Yet Google treats Scroogle like a bot because they see the traffic from our six IP addresses as higher than normal. Searching Google with a bot is against Google's terms of service, but Scroogle users are not bots.

But that's no problem.
If that happens, we use Dogpile.
Or GoodSearch.
Or any of the other search machines available.
Because there are many other search machines available.

Why?
Well, if the above is not reason enough for you, make sure to search this blog for all entries containing the name of the currently most used search machine in the world.
We promise you quite a read. :)

A simple song, 100 years later

2012-01-30T21:47:00.000+01:00

Exactly one hundred years ago, on January 30th, 1912, a song was born.

It was born from a 5 shilling wager, they say.

It is a simple song, a silly song, a song that makes you smile.

It became popular quickly; but it was tragedy that made it immortal: the First World War, when this song was sung by hundreds and thousands of soldiers, n all sides.

All that because it was a silly, simple song, singing about going home and returning to life's simpler nuisances and joys.

Here it is:

Happy 100th, silly good old song, and many happy returns.

We all need a good old silly song to make us smile, to gladden our heart and make it sing.

LISTENING

2011-12-01T07:28:00.007+01:00

Can You hear me

O ~~merciless~~ merciful God?

Bend Your world, if You do,

and reverse time

that my mother may be here with me

and we be

as we were.

Taken from here,
felt everywhere

Guess who is hiding behind Greece's monetary failure?

2011-11-18T04:20:00.009+01:00

Guess. Because that's what it is - only a guess.
It is, however, informed by decades of reflexion on the vicissitudes of history.

For their - and consequently our - economic troubles, the Greeks have no one to blame but themselves.
There is no need to go into detail at this point.
What matters is that they appear to be unusually keen on leaving the Euro-zone and the EU altogether, at least judging by assorted media reports and articles.

Or are they?
True to their nature, Greeks are not the best of team players.
They are also (and quite understandably, up to a point) cynical about governments in general, and their own goverment in particular.

This is always a dangerous situation, because despondency can lead to apathy, and apathy naturally makes place for more active players to take over.

Which is why Greece is the perfect tinder box for power-hungry forces, both inside and outside the country. All they have to do is to encourage and fuel the most destructive of attitudes, hoping the situation will eventually spiral into a desperate need for a "saviour".

Can Greece survive "alone", i.e. outside the European Union?
It is debatable. What does "survive" mean?

Would it fare better, at the very least?
Again, it is doubtful.

A more likely scenario is that it would partner with some other country, who could offer - if not necessarily deliver - the security and "respect" that Greece apparently lacks in the EU.

Now ask yourself: who on Earth could have an interest in a would-be renegade member of the European Union, a country in the deep south of Europe, with ports on the Mediterranean, and conveniently close to that other tinder box, which is also the "gateway" to the Middle East, that is Turkey?

And who would this same would-be renegade member of the European Union be likely to accept, perhaps even invite (not publicly, of course), as its "saviour", for historical and religion-based cultural reasons?

Could it be the same power that remains hidden behind the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, to name just one major mess?

Think about it.
Someone has to.

Beauty of This World

2011-11-10T11:56:00.011+01:00

By Zumthie

The Guardian... of WHAT, exactly?

2011-10-05T19:07:00.008+02:00

There is an opinion piece in today's Guardian, concerning the recent aquittal of Amanda Knox in the Meredith Kercher murder case.

The article was open for comments, as such articles usually are, and expecting an array of interesting - certainly not crass or too ignorant - comments, I started reading the few comments that were already there, and contributed mine. Then, I was interrupted, and I left the web page open.

When I returned, a few hours later, I remembered the article and wanted to continue reading.

Forgetting that I already had a tab with that web page open, I opened a new one.

What a surprise!

All the comments, but one (consisting of two words), had been removed.

I copied the comments from the old, un-refreshed page, and I would gladly show them to you; but I am not sure the authors of the comments would agree, and I have no way of contacting them.

So, I'll only show you mine (in direct reply to the article):

Are you kidding me?
Why would she want to escape from the "clutches" of the media who did play a role in building up her (unpleasant) public persona but have now, by the same token, provided her with a free (and abundant!) meal ticket?

She is set for life, precisely because of the persona that the media - with abundant help from herself - built.

I don't know if she was actively, or at all, implicated in Meredith's murder.
But if she lacked the fortitude to withstand alleged pressure from the police and pointed her finger at an innocent man, accusing him of murder, I doubt she would be motivated enough to refuse the multi-million offers coming to her now.
And the price for those, of course, is publicity.

I am sure many people are much worse off.
Some of them are even dead.

You may agree or disagree - even passionately so - with the contents, but really... If this is considered censorship-worthy - and the other comments removed were more or less in the same tone - then I have to ask myself: whom or what, exactly, is the Guardian guarding?

Not freedom of opinion, that's certain.

The Auschwitz swimming pool

2011-09-17T20:31:00.015+02:00

If you are expecting either a piece of "holocaust denial" or a rant against "holocaust deniers" - I should invite you straight away to look elsewhere.

I should also state quite clearly that I don't know what exactly happened or did not happen in Auschwitz. I wasn't around. And having studied history (among other things), I know how treacherous historiography is, almost inevitably. The truth of history - any history - is, as the saying goes, seldom pure and never simple.

A friend of a friend dragged me into a discussion about WW II the other day; specifically, a discussion of what is usually called (thanks to Spielberg) "the Holocaust".

The discussion went nowhere very fast, because he was insisting I look at some of his sources - which turned out to be internet postings. Forum postings, with a link or two to websites that appear to be too sure of their own truth for my taste.

Featuring prominently was a series of discussions about what appears to be a swimming pool located in Oswiecim, better known by its German name, Auschwitz.

Apparently the existence of this swimming pool had been denied in the past; or, more accurately, it was called a "cistern", a water tank, for the Auschwitz fire brigade.

Taken from here.

It certainly has an unusual shape for such a purpose; to me, it appears to be a perfectly fine and elegant Art Deco-era swimming pool, especially considering the place and circumstances.
And I told him so.

Then I expected to be told the gist of the story that the picture seemed to promise. Yes, it was a swimming pool - a nice swimming pool.
At Auschwitz, yes. ... And...?

And that was that.
Apparently the fact that there was a swimming pool at Auschwitz was highly significant.

But, I objected, it is well known that the German authorities took reasonably good care of their Lager-Kommandanten and their families as well as the personnel whenever possible. They had all sorts of amenities; why not a swimming pool?

In my obtuseness apparently I had misunderstood the whole point of the "discussion". The point being that if there was a swimming pool at Auschwitz it must have been used by the prisoners; which in its turn signifies that Auschwitz was not a sinister extermination camp but rather a summer camp... well, of sorts.

How did you come to the conclusion that it was used by the prisoners?, I asked.
Apparently the fact that the swimming pool's existence had been "covered up" by the local museum guides and book guides about Auschwitz, either by flat denial of its existence or by presenting it as a water tank for other purposes is incriminatory enough to allow such a leap of logic.

As I said before, I do not know what happened or did not happen at Auschwitz, or wherever I was not present.
But to me, the denial of the existence of said swimming pool at Auschwitz signals atrociously bad judgment and extremely poor scholarship on the part of whoever trained the guides (and of the guides themselves) and/or wrote the guidebooks that do not mention the swimming pool or that present it as something else. It does not follow from this stupidity that the pool was used by the prisoners. It may have been, for all I know; but if it was, that certainly does not follow from the "evidence" presented.

The reason I chose to pen this little post today is that this issue - or rather "issue" - appears to be less of a historical mystery/conspiracy/cover-up/whatever than a rather typical example of the ignorance that the internet has revealed and is now actively spreading itself.
By ignorance I mean just that: lack of proper education, of proper schooling, and - much more worryingly - of proper critical thinking skills (which are, after all, one of the goals of proper education).

This (non)issue could be the symbol of the new world that has emerged since the beginning of the internet era: an era of easily accessible information, where mere ease and speed of information is mistaken for quality of information.
Even worse, books - proper books, historical and other, and the painstakingly researched information they offer - appear to be almost devalued among a considerable number of netizens, if we are to judge from numerous forum postings and other means of public expression.

Does truth not matter? Since when?
Just because many people seem to prefer indulging in assorted conspiracy theories - because they are, to put it bluntly, unhappy with the real world of their own daily life but lack the intellectual wherewithal to change it - it does not follow that anything and everything can be relativised into an "alternative" story - and still hold water.

To read a more uplifting story, about the glory of the human mind (and good education!), see this delightful text (p. 29 of the PDF; or through a link found here).

The best part of it is that the critical thinker featured in it was twelve years old.
The bad, really bad news is that it happened 200 years ago.

Romance: Jay and Mavis Leno

2011-08-30T16:35:00.004+02:00

The title brings to mind the title of some episode from some corny Discovery TCL series meant to act as a filler during two episodes of some "junkyard kings" show, or - much, much worse - of the Happily Ever Laughter crap-fest.

But after reading the article below, I just felt inspired to share it; and there is no way to describe these two people's dynamics succinctly, except with the word romance.
Or perhaps - love.
Yes, that's even better a fit.
Much, much better.

Happily Ever Laughter... with Jay and Mavis Leno

Believe me, you don't have to love or even appreciate Jay Leno - although I certainly do - to enjoy the article.
If nothing else, read it for the truly baffling mystery of September 5th in Jay Leno's love life.

But I guarantee you: if you love reading about true love and romance, you'll love this one.
It puts all those fake "romantic" gestures, the cotton candy of contemporary pop culture, to shame.
Well, it's not really in the same category with those... or even on the same planet.
Alas, it is also relatively rare - in Hollywood, or anywhere else.

Having trouble with Google cache? (Don't ask Yahoo about it.)

2011-08-11T18:37:00.019+02:00

Lately I've been having a bizarre problem with Google (which, I am happy to say, we use only rarely these days, preferring DogPile and, occasionally, GoodSearch).

Sometimes, when I want to see the cache of a website - typically a forum thread - I get another batch of search results instead of the cache.
(I've learned to circumvent it by clicking on Translate this page, then clicking show original. Problem solved.)

At first, I thought it had something to do with Chrome, which is currently my primary browser. But the same thing happened when I used Firefox and Flock.

Apparently I am not the only one having this problem.

Here's the cache of a question on Yahoo Answers that was left unanswered.

I wanted to answer, if only by giving the link to this thread:

http://www.webmasterworld.com/google/4338049.htm

I couldn't. The question had been deleted.

Why?

Who knows.

But the same person asked another interesting question, namely "why does Yahoo delete all questions about Google?"

The "best" answer was that it doesn't.

It is a blatant lie, and a cringeworthy ridiculous one at that.

I have seen questions - perfectly innocent questions - related to Google deleted time and time again. (Conversely, there are tons of criminally stupid, ill-categorised and rude questions left to linger forever.)

But then look what it says on Yahoo Answers about what they expect - no, sorry: like - to see in their visitors.

What we like on Answers

Sharing what you know
Being courteous
Being a good citizen
Citing your sources
Asking clear questions
Categorizing your questions correctly

The emphasis is mine; I got the colour more or less right, but the swastika you'll have to picture it yourself...

Being a good citizen is a most commendable thing, of course.

Unfortunately, history shows that the essence of being a good citizen is open to interpretation.

And there is no interpretation of this category visible anywhere on YA.

Even more unfortunately for YA, the question that was deleted clearly shows that it complied with all the unambiguous guidelines cited above. So, was the reason that it was deleted due to failure to comply with the one ambiguous guideline?

The obvious association - a nastier term does come to mind, but I'll let your imagination do its thing - between Google and Yahoo Answers is becoming increasingly embarrassing to watch.
But surprising it is not.

Who but yahoos would pledge their allegiance to Google at this point of the virtual game?

PS. The same question has been asked, verbatim, on another website.

"Bizarre" (dis)likes

2011-08-11T14:20:00.013+02:00

Frankly, I think very few, if any, dislikes - or likes, for that matter - really are "bizarre".

What's bizarre is the reluctance of adult, presumably independently thinking, people to express their dislike of anything that has been, directly or indirectly, sanctioned by cinema, the TV, the vox populi in general, as "likeable". Sometimes they are not even aware of their own dislike until someone else expresses it. (Like an acquaintance of mine - then a young mother - who admitted, for the first time, she did not like hearing children singing, especially not in chorus, after I expressed my intense dislike of it.)

Here are a few more of my "bizarre" dislikes:

- The morning sun. (And if it's in winter, even more so.)
I usually work at night; I prefer it that way. And I don't have to wake up at any specific hour, so it's not about any association with must-do chores.
I can appreciate the dawn, but once the sun is out, that's it - I cannot bear to see it until after noon.
I dislike it so much that I've moved my bedroom from the east side of the apartment to the west side.

Which brings me to...

- After-dawn mornings.

Sun or no sun, I hate mornings, most especially from around 9 - 10:45 o'clock.

As soon as noon comes, the unpleasant, dull tension that I associate with mornings disappears as if by magic.

Funnily enough, there are studies that show that most heart attacks and similar incidents tend to happen around 9 o'clock in the morning.

- Live versions of the songs I like.
I have a really good ear and a good auditive memory. When I like what I hear, I want to hear it exactly - and I mean 100% exactly - like I remember it. Every beat, every note, every pause. Not a sigh should be different.
Call me crazy.

And my "bizarre" likes:

-Heavy, dark grey, stormy clouds, with or without thunder.

- Walking in the rain, especially in spring or (oh joy!) summer.

Why this is considered "bizarre" by so many people, I'll never know. There are few ordinary pleasures as intense as being kissed all over the face and bare skin (weather permitting) by warm drops of water. I say "kissed" because that's how it feels to me, especially when the droplets are very tiny. It's like hundreds of tiny, warm kisses tickling your face, your lips, your eyelids. It's so relaxing!

People really should start leaving their umbrellas at home more often. I suspect getting wet - and surviving it - would each them things that would improve their lives in general.

- Strong wind (unless it's really freezing cold).

Same as above, only it feels like caressing, not kissing.

"But it messes with your hair!" says an aunt of mine.

So what? That's part of the pleasure! It's such fun feeling your hair flying all around, as if mussed by a pair of gentle, playful hands.

- Walking barefoot.

Need I explain it?

Well, I won't.

I do have a like that even I consider a little - just a little - bizarre... but it'll have to wait until some other occasion.

Meanwhile, do let us know what are some of your "bizarre" likes and dislikes.

That strange feeling...

2011-08-10T03:04:00.004+02:00

We borrowed the title directly from our sister blog, because it sounds exactly like what we've been hearing for the past few days: people having "strange feelings" of the undefinable kind. Something is not quite right.

There's nothing strange about such feelings: the Sun appears to be shooting at us with its heavy artillery, according to SpaceWeather.
But, who knows, for all we know there could be other influences involved.

Everyone is familiar with such odd, something-is-off-kilter feelings. Some like to turn to astrology for an explanation, others (including us) to astronomy, and still others (also including us) to a variety of additional approaches. Why not?

For those who like a catholic (i.e. all-inclusive) approach, there is a website against which to check your daily moods:

MOOD ALERT

Not everything about it is up-to-date at all times, but it's accurate - and fun - enough.

Let us know how it works for you.

What the internet is HIDING from you

2011-07-27T17:35:00.007+02:00

The internet is, without a doubt, one of the most far-reaching inventions in human history. Its potential for education and swift communication - and organisation - is immense. In fact, it has already become the number one tool of education for many around the world. (The fact that Wikipedia, followed by its many minor clones, seems to be the number one source of said "education" is less than commendable, but more on that on some other occasion.)

The goal of the internet was to expand an individual's world far beyond local boundaries.
And it did... for a long time.

And then came December 4th, 2009.

If you don't know what happened on that date, chances are that you also still believe that the internet is showing you anything you want it to show.

It is not.

Thanks (mostly) to Google - which now could justly be called infamous - your world is narrowing, not expanding. And the worst part of it is precisely that you may not be aware of it.

Read this book.

Or at least read this interview. You'll thank us for it.

What the internet is hiding from you

And by the way, there are ways around Google. Our favourite search machine is DogPile, a meta-search machine that gathers results from other search machines, showing you what is to be found where.

So, if you want to make a dent, however small, into Google's monopoly and its claims over your life and your thought, choose results from other search machines, whenever possible. That's what we do.

How to disable autorun in Win XP

2011-07-08T04:26:00.004+02:00

Can't disable that uber-annoying autorun that starts every time you run a program? You'll have to edit the Group Policy (never knew you had one, huh?).

Click START and then RUN. Type GPedit.msc and press ENTER.

... ... ...

Nothing happened, right?
Of course not. The Wicked Witch of Microsoft made sure it could not.
There's nothing wrong with your computer, nor are the necessary files (GPedit.msc & Co.) corrupt or anything like that. It's just that certain Windows editions do not include them (XP Home being one of them).

So, for the privilege to run your own computer the way you want it, you have to be either nostradamically endowed to foresee whether the Windows edition you're buying includes the files (that nobody EVER told you about) necessary to disable the autorun feature - or you simply go here and download them.

After you've done that, unzip them and click the InstallGPEdit.bat.
This will install the files in the proper directory (System32).

After you've done that, open the System32 folder (you'll find it in the Windows folder) and create a new folder and name it GroupPolicy.

Open this (still empty) folder and create another folder within it; name it ADM.

Find the following files and copy them into the ADM folder that you just created:

system.adm
inetres.adm
conf.adm

Now click START again, select RUN and run these commands (one by one, obviously):

regsvr32 gpedit.dll
regsvr32 fde.dll
regsvr32 gptext.dll
regsvr32 appmgr.dll
regsvr32 fdeploy.dll

This will register the files you just copied into your OS.
A window should pop up informing you that "registration succeeded" or something to that effect.

Finally, click START and then RUN. Type GPedit.msc and press ENTER.
Now it should work like a charm.

Do not thank me. Thank these guys.
I did.

Now you can finally edit your Group Policy. To do that, you will have to hack the registry. But before we go on...

IMPORTANT:

Please, make sure you have a a backup copy of your registry and a system restore point.

I do not anticipate you will need it IF you repeat the following steps exactly as they are presented, but just in case - please, do not blame us if anything goes awry. You have been warned.

As long as that is clear, we can continue.
Click START, then RUN, type regedit and press ENTER.

Now click HKEY_CURRENT USER.
Click Software.
Click Microsoft.
Click Windows.
Click Current Version.
Click Policies.
Click Explorer.

Now that you've arrived in the Explorer folder, look at the right pane.
Highlight NoDriveTypeAutorun and select MODIFY in the drop-down menu.
The value shown should be hexadecimal; if it is not, select hexadecimal.

Type 95 and click OK.

This will disable autorun on removable/USB drive, but still allow it on CD-ROMs. To disable the autorun function on both types of drive, do not write 95 - type b5 instead.

Reboot your computer for the registry changes to take effect.

Again, do not thank me. Thank this guy... sorry, gal. :)

And good luck being the captain of the ship that you bought and is rightfully yours.

Monsieur Proust's opal

2011-07-01T03:21:00.007+02:00

There probably isn't a single soul in the world who has not lost something, perhaps inexplicably, and then found it again, perhaps equally inexplicably.
To find the object, many people resort to St. Anthony of Padua, or to St. Francis of Assisi, or to some other method.
You can read more about it here, in our sister blog. This posting is no speculation on the mysterious ways of wayward objects. It is simply a re-posting of a beautiful little event, told by Celeste Albaret, Marcel Proust's housekeeper, at the very end of her unforgettably beautiful book.

One night when I was with M. Proust at boulevard Haussman he was showing me some things he'd asked me to fetch from the chest, including some pretty pendant earrings made of coral which used to belong to his mother.

"I think they would suit my niece Suzy," he said. "Put them away, Celeste."
Then, when I came back: "Ah, here is my opal tie pin. Unfortunately I stepped on it and broke it. A pity. But the opal is all right and very pretty. Would you like it? Take it."

I had it mounted as a ring, and it never left my finger. Later, much later, I wanted to give it to Odile, but she was afraid that she might lose it and, knowing how fond I was of it, preferred I keep it. I wore it night and day. Then one day I lost it. In despair I did what my mother used to do and prayed to St. Anthony. Mother used to say he always helped her find things. But nothing happened.

That same day my daughter had brought in some greens which I picked over and washed, cooked and chopped up. While we were at the table - Odile, my sister Marie, and I - Odile suddenly stopped eating.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Did you break a tooth?"
It was M. Proust's opal.
He hadn't forgotten me any more than I could forget him.

Translated by Barbara Bray

Gems From the Attic: a 1933 documentary

2011-06-29T12:57:00.010+02:00

"Where shall we look for yesterday?"

Not in history books, if you ask me.

Films may be much better an option.

If you like documentaries like the 1927 masterpiece, Berlin, the Symphony of a Metropolis, or Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera (1929), or the incomparable Joris Ivens - or any documentary about cities and life decades ago - chances are you will love this gem.

SCRAPBOOK FOR 1933 - reel 1 of 3

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Your browser does not support iframes.&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

Enjoy.

The Right to Violence and Cynicism

2011-06-29T00:29:00.065+02:00

On Monday, the Supreme Court of the U.S.A. has struck down a California law that banned the sale of violent video games to children.

The Californian law defined violent games as those “in which the range of options available to a player includes killing, maiming, dismembering or sexually assaulting an image of a human being” in a way that was “patently offensive,” appealed to minors’ “deviant or morbid interests” and lacked “serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value.

The Supreme Court, presided by Justice Antonin Scalia, argued that “Like the protected books, plays and movies that preceded them, video games communicate ideas — and even social messages — through many familiar literary devices (such as characters, dialogue, plot and music) and through features distinctive to the medium (such as the player’s interaction with the virtual world). That suffices to confer First Amendment protection."

He also pointed out that "depictions of violence have never been subject to government regulation".

True.
This argument is somewhat disingenuous and exasperating in its willful short-sightedness, but it is in compliance with the existing (clearly inadequate) legislation.

Furthermore, in the right hands it could be used to pose the very questions about the inadequacy of relevant legislation, therefore used for the good of society - for the good of a society that does not want every single value relativised and deconstructed into an obsolete word, a risible label. To protect the right NOT to be exposed to gratuitous violence.

But the argument of some commentators are just plain stupid - albeit criminally so. Here is a particularly irritating example.

It is Perverse, but It Is Also Pretend

The author, who conducted "a study" at Harvard, claims that the California state case was "built on assumptions — that violent games cause children psychological or neurological harm and make them more aggressive and likely to harm other people — that are not supported by evidence. "

First of all, what evidence, and who is interpreting it?

By way of "evidence", this article presents us with a statement of a 13-year-old who said: “With video games, you know it’s fake.”

The people interpreting this "evidence" are, like the author, clearly a priori of the opinion that the ill effects of violence are merely an assumption. (Tell that to social workers around the world!)

But the author then goes on to say: "In the end, the case serves only to highlight how little we know about this medium and its effects on our children."

??!

If you know so little, then why the hell are you talking about this, and backing your assumptions with Harvard studies, to boot?

Anyway, I would say that having to have security guards regularly inspect and disarm school-children - who are, by the way, increasingly in need of psychological help and are being drugged en masse by OTC "medicines" - I would say that constitutes pretty reliable "evidence" that something is seriously amiss. Because such things were practically unheard of until the 1990s.(There were scandalous isolated cases, of course; and they were scandalous because they were isolated cases.)

Now think: which is the one factor that separates earlier incarnations of our Western culture from ours today?

The media. Television. The internet. All prodigious inventions that could have brought the light to billions - and, up to a point, they have - but were abused, in a typically human fashion, and perverted into ultra-fast catering to the basest of human impulses - the kind of impulses that spread the fastest, like - literally - the plague.
And all, TO PERVERT PEOPLE INTO SPINELESS CONSUMERS, not only of material goods, but of ideologies.

That's the bottom line.

Or has humankind "evolved", all by itself, as if living in a vacuum, into a degenerate race of blood-thirsty, crazy toddlers? How did this happen? Where are the studies explaining that?

Notice the deviously isolated subject of this study: "... that violent games [my emphasis] cause children psychological or neurological harm and make them more aggressive..."

Violence is violence. The mind does not recognise differences between virtual and non-virtual violence, or indeed, among kinds of violence. The intellect does; but the wider conglomerate of sense-based cognition that drives our experience of the world - starting by the limbic system - does not. Violence is a destructive force, pure and simple. It takes impure and willfully perverse (or hopelessly obtuse) reasoning to twist this basic reality into "anything-goes" sophistry.

You shouldn't need a PhD to figure that one out.

EVERYTHING starts as an impulse in the mind, as an image, as a fleeting fantasy. And everyone - certainly a Harvard study-conductor - should know that image equals example. And like breeds like. Violence breeds more violence.

The ultimate argument of such brave defenders of liberty is, inevitably, the claim that restrictions open the door to arbitrary censorship.

It's as a vacuous argument, as is the rest of the arguments of the defenders of the uglier "liberties". (Yes, I am using quotation marks because lax values, if any, do not constitute freedom. In fact, they lead to slavery, to spineless acquiescence.)

If you prohibit one thing on the basis of certain criteria, it does not follow automatically that this would foster increasingly arbitrary decisions in the future. As long as we keep using our intellect, we CAN decide what is acceptable and what not as we go, can't we?

The actual reasoning behind the least sinister (but no less harmful) arguments amounts to: "Who are we to decide what is 'good' and what 'bad', and who are we to impose either on anyone?"

Yes, indeed. If you're talking sub specie aeternitatis, then you can easily reduce Cheops' pyramid into a molehill. (And Stalin into a misguided but ultimately not-bad Uncle Joe.)

But our daily lives are not fashioned in the light of eternity, and the question is: what kind of society do we want to live in?

And how about the right NOT to be exposed to violence and oversexualisation?

Who is fighting for those?

California was; and it was defeated.

"Rights" also imply an ability to choose. But how can a person who has been practically indoctrinated from the day s/he was born choose anything that is not what s/he is familiar with?

One thing I definitely agree about with the author of the "study" above and the supporters of this line of thought: it IS perverse, and it IS pretend.

Only, I am not talking about video games.

To end this on a positive, constructive note, here's a suggestion: how about conducting a study on WHAT exactly does cause the surge of mindless violence among the very young that has started in the 1990s and shows no signs of dying down?

I would suspect that most thinking and sentient human beings already have an idea of what is causing it. But if Harvard & Co. need to be convinced of it, so be it.

Only, it would have to be conducted and the results assessed by a panel of truly independent-thinking people who prefer the truth to the sound of their own voice and the sight of their name in the New York Times.

Your followers and you - a new chapter

2011-06-26T11:21:00.004+02:00

According to an article published in today's New York Times, a number of companies are busy analysing and rating millions upon millions of Twitter, Facebook and other "social networks" users, in order to determine - or rather, establish - their social influence. In other words, not only will they be counting the number of your "friends" and "followers", but also examining what can you make them do. Then they will score you. And then they will publish their scores. Online.

I can literally hear the stampede of millions of feet - or rather, fingers - rushing over keyboards, to make hay, as much of it as humanly possible, as quickly as inhumanly made possible by their overtaxed computers.

It will be interesting to see how much genuine communication - and how quickly - this latest rating competition will erode. Or rather, it would be interesting. I don't have a Twitter or a Facebook account, and I do not foresee having any such inclinations in the near or distant future. And yes, I know you can read messages on both even without having an account, but I am not that interested in pursuing this particular line of research. Besides, I am sure there is some PhD thesis on the subject being hatched as we speak.

What could possibly the purpose of such rating be?
Duh - money, what else?
The only other - theoretical - option I can think of would be to destroy the influence of Twitter, Facebook & Co. A very cunning and daringly surreptitious plan.

Unfortunately, there is little space for such subtleties in the online global community. The "social networks" seem to be actively populated mostly by adolescent-minded people - and adolescents are typically very mindful of other people's opinions. In fact, few matrons or grandpas are as conservative and conventional in their mindset as the average teenager.

Still, there is no reason for you to have other people's standards imposed on you. There is always an elegant solution to every predicament. This case is no exception.
And you know what the solution is.

29. VI. 2011
EDIT to add this hilarious video:

The Internet Personality Disorder

The Saddest Day of the Year

2011-06-23T01:57:00.004+02:00

Unbelievably, it is upon us once again. The longest day of the year, the shortest night of the year.

I cannot fathom the mentality of those who, for long centuries, have celebrated this day, Midsummer, and still do. The Sol Invictus is beating a retreat. The culmination of its power marks the beginning of its inevitable descent.
It's not Light who's winning today - it's Darkness.

I have been depressed by "midsummer" ever since the day when I first found out its astronomical meaning. Conversely, from that same day on I have been celebrating December 21st - celebrating genuinely, in my heart. It is the gladdest day of the year. From then on, no matter how dark it might get yet, light is winning, slowly but steadily.

Still, make hay while you can. Wander through the woods; perhaps a fern seed will fall in your shoes and you will be able to understand the language of animals, as a lovely old folk tradition promises.
Go pick St John's Wort (ironically enough, the premier natural remedy for depression) which derives its name from St John's feast (June 24th), when this wonderful flower is at the peak of its strength and should be harvested.

Enjoy the fireflies' magical, mysterious dance.

And cherish the light. Store it and preserve it, like you would do with ripe, sweet cherries, so that it might last you through the dark days.

The best short story ever told

2011-06-11T22:47:00.008+02:00

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Forever the single most convincing proof of Hemingway's - well, someone's - writing talent, and the best thing he ever wrote.

I wish I had thought of it myself.

AWE

2011-06-10T16:48:00.009+02:00

Plains Milky Way from Randy Halverson on Vimeo.

She STOLE my labia!

2011-06-07T03:10:00.014+02:00

This article by dr. Lissa Rankin is bound to become an instant bestseller, that much is sure.
I'll borrow one - possibly the tamest one - of the true horror stories from her gyn-ob practice.

You Stole My Labia

One of my patients sued me for stealing her labia. Swear to God. I performed a standard gynecologic procedure, and I swear I didn’t steal any body parts, but a few days after I met her, another doctor called my office and said, “I’ve got this woman here, Mabel Nile. She says you removed her uterus and her bladder and cut off her labia and licked her clitoris, with no anesthesia, right there in your office. But I took a look at her, and all her parts appear to be where they’re supposed to be. What did you do to her, anyway?”

A few days later, I got a letter from Mabel, addressed to “Dr. Rankinstein.” On the outside of the envelope was a child-like drawing of a spiky instrument next to two little rectangular boxes. Written on the envelope in red pen was, “You have something of mine, and I want it back.” Inside, I found a note, handwritten on lined notebook paper with scratchy, halting letters. “You stole my labia. Where did you put them? In the lab?”

A few weeks later, I received a notice that Mabel was suing me for stealing her labia. When I showed up in court, Mabel was already sitting on the other side at the plaintiff’s table. The judge said, “Ms. Nile. Please state your case.”
“That doctor…” She turned and pointed a sausage finger at me. “SHE STOLE MY LABIA!” she yelled, slamming her fists on the podium. “She’s got ‘em in a jar somewhere. In the lab. They’re gone. Wanna see?” She started to pull down her plaid pants. “SHE’S HOLDING THEM HOSTAGE! I just want my labia! TELL HER TO GIVE ME BACK MY LABIA!” she bellowed. The bailiff stood up beside her, but the judge shook her head. Mabel stared into space, and the judge asked her to take her seat.

The judge shook her head and ruled in my favor. I won my counter-suit for malicious prosecution, and Mabel still owes me $100.

That was many years ago, and I have long since forgiven Mabel. I hope she found help, and most of all, I hope she finally discovered that her labia are right there between her legs, where they’ve been all along.

If you think that's bad - or hilarious - you will not believe the following stories. But beware: IF YOU'RE SQUEAMISH, DO NOT EVEN PEEP.

The Passion Flower

(Of a woman who used her vagina as a handbag... Literally.)

Vines Growin' Outta My Jojo

(A picturesque modern parable about the importance of education.)

I Warned You

(So did I.)

And I thought that couple - husband and wife, both around 36 years old - who, years ago, came to a hospital because the wife had severe abdominal "cramps", only to discover that she was pregnant and due any minute (she gave birth a few hours later)... I thought they were bad.

P.S. I told you so.

Julie... WHO?

2011-06-04T21:54:00.008+02:00

A friend came to my hotel room today and, waving a British newspaper at me, asked me in a tone of puzzled, almost squeamish disgust:

"Who is this woman? And why is she famous?"

(I should point out right now that neither of us is British.)

Another friend, a fellow journalist (who is British), peered over our shoulders and said: "Hah! Because her publicist said so."

"Ah - not so!" I replied, pointing to a page from a popular online encyclopaedia. "Look what a fine mind from the Observer wrote about her":

If Burchill is famous for anything it is for being Julie Burchill, the brilliant, unpredictable, outrageously outspoken writer who has an iconoclastic, usually offensive, view on everything.

This quote reminds me of those parents who call their screaming and mentally challenged brats "spirited" and "independent-minded".

Then again, the impulse behind said quote might have been just the author's possible - and possibly justified - fear of being spat at in public. Not by the public, I might add.

If nothing else, he got the first part right, all right.

What puzzles me is the basis of this fame, or rather notoriety.
She is the kind of person that people love to hate, to use the brilliant Hollywood tagline used to sell the soi-disant Count Erich Oswald Hans Carl Maria von Stroheim und Nordenwall (born as Erich Oswald Stroheim, not an Austrian prince but the son of a Jewish hatmaker from the Vienna ghetto, a fact that should appeal to Miss Burchill, which is why we mention it here).

Still, you would expect a reasonable source of attraction underlying, and feeding, that pet "hate" - much like the unseemly attraction of evil debasement in von Stroheim's characters.

In the case of an "outspoken" and "iconoclastic" journalist you would expect at least a modicum of wit or acerbic intelligence (however misguided).

I can understand why many people admire - and love to hate - Christopher Hitchens, for example.
I do not find him all that admirable, and I certainly do not love to hate him.
In fact, I do not hate him at all; and quite often, I feel sorry for him.
(No, not because he's ill, but because his own intellect is a severely misfiring and self-defeating weapon. Apparently no friend has made him see that his irrationality is making him sick - possibly literally. Or maybe he just didn't listen to them. Or maybe he just can't help himself.)
But at least he has the wit to respond - and often attack, unprovoked - with a certain feel for the situation and a coherence of thought. He can be witty.

I do not admire Hitchens - but I "get" him.
I get his fame and attraction in certain circles. And I respect it.

But how can anyone find anything remotely interesting in a person - a journalist, no less - who counters the following statement:

"You think yourself madly clever but ... you seem trapped in juvenility."

with this reply:

"... Fuck off you crazy old dyke. Always, Julie Burchill." ?

It might be predictably funny as a scene from a film a la Shirley Valentine or Educating Rita.
And, of course, it would not be out of place as a sketch in Monty Python.
In fact, I can think of quite a few MP sketches based on this type of interlocution.

But outside the world of Monty Python it is not funny. There is no wit there, acerbic or otherwise, no sly observation, no bon mot... Nothing, nothing at all. It is the type of retort that the local schoolyard bully - you know the type: all brute force and loud mouth, not one grey cell to spare - would utter.
And for a purported journalist, such lack of wit is astounding.
How could this person be a journalist for respectable newspapers - and for several decades, no less?
It boggles the mind. It certainly lessens my respect for the Times and the Guardian and the Observer. (My respect for the Sun, however, remains untouched.)

I have no dog in this race and could not care less about either of the protagonists of this uneven and decidedly dull duel of pens.
But I can nod in agreement with the very last sentence of another thing her opponent, somewhat clumsily, told her:

"I am read around the world from Japan to South America, and the basis of my fame is not just journalism ... You are completely unknown outside England."

Yes, you are - except perhaps as a freak show.
And, if I may presume to speak on behalf of said world, it is no great loss.

Are YOU a yahoo?

2011-06-04T08:19:00.025+02:00

You'd have to be to look for answers on Yahoo Answers.

Said website was one of the earliest shocks in my web surfing career. And unlike many websites, it hasn't really grown - it just goes on and on, in all its glorious ignorance. Which makes perfect sense, considering its concept (for people who know nothing, by people who know nothing).

Yahoo Answers often come up among prominent search results. And sometimes, a snippet of a sentence catches my eye. That's how I have gained some insight into the mind-bending dimensions of ignorance that is crippling the world.

And let's not even go into the "expertise" of the respondents.

Just yesterday I happened to see a question asking whether Epsom salts really work for constipation.

The "best answer", chosen by the asker, started thusly: "Yuck! I've never even heard of that", followed by an offer to explain the "scientific background" of constipation.

This person claims to know the "scientific background" for constipation - but has never even heard of Epsom salts, one of the most widely prescribed OTC remedies? (And BTW: no, it doesn't work for everyone.)

I think impersonating "experts" should be strictly prohibited, actually.

But what really gets me is this sort of question:
"What is a reduction sauce?"
(This is an actual question on YA.)

If you invest the same amount of energy, time and grey cells by typing this same question - or even just "reduction sauce" - into the search box of any search machine, you will get this, the first three results being:

Reduction (cooking) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Reduction-Sauce Basics: The Splendid Table

What is a Reduction Sauce?

Apparently there are lots and lots of people who do not even think of finding the answer to their questions by searching for them directly (we're talking about very basic knowledge, not requesting personal opinions)... but they do know how to find Yahoo Answers?

Some even request homework help - instead of simply entering their query in the search machine.

It's as if the thought of using Google (or any other search machine) for something else than just going to Yahoo Answers has never occurred to them.

What I mean is, how stupid - or functionally illiterate - can you be to be unable to use a search machine for finding answers directly and would rather waste time waiting for others to Google up the answers?

Do you understand why this is alarming, to say the least?

Of course you do. If you did not, you would never be caught reading this blog. :)
You'd be on Yahoo Answers.

And you wouldn't even know why it is so appropriate that it should be called - yahoo.

DO NOT MISS: G oolture or The Twilight of Culture

The Dukan Diet - no longterm success?

2011-06-02T15:19:00.002+02:00

That's what Lynx, from our sister blog, has found out.

Apparently, almost 80 % of dieters following the (in)famous Dukan diet - perhaps it should be called the "Carole Middleton diet"? - regained their weight after two years (and around 36 % after a year).

Read more about it here, where it is explained in great detail.

Why I left YouTube

2011-05-23T01:14:00.024+02:00

I would never have thought that leaving YouTube could ever pain me at all, let alone pain me as much as it does. But it does.

As you may have noticed if you've read some of posts, especially about Google, I have an intense dislike of said corporation's policies and of their increasingly intrusive attitude in general. Not because of some paranoia, but simply because I instinctively withdraw from any attempt to be herded and "managed" - especially not by a corporation on an ego trip, the sole aim of which is to amass big bucks and exert control over the virtual world.

Now, YouTube is demanding that you link your account to an email address - or else (you won't be able to interact with anyone on YouTube, or even give feedback).

Ask yourself: why on earth would they possibly need your email address?

There are several possibilities, not necessarily mutually exclusive.
Let's go with the most harmless possibility and venture this answer: to "improve" your Google profile - or should I say, your Google dossier?
To build a comprehensive mine of information about your tastes, choices and way of thinking - so they can cater to it, of course. So they can serve you advertisements that you are - or so they think - more likely to click.

I don't mind panhandlers. I just don't like it when the panhandling is disguised and presented as something for my benefit.
I also don't like being treated like a semi-literate idiot, only interested in shopping - especially not by brainless crawlers who cannot understand a repeated "no" because, well, they don't have a brain.

And so, when Youtube suddenly started prompting me to link my existing account with an email address, I first ignored it and sailed past it.

Then it became impossible.

And so I left.

Obviously I still visit YouTube and listen to music - as an anonymous user or "guest" - but I cannot communicate with other users anymore.

I hear you: Yeah, so?

Well, here's the thing. In my years on the internet I have visited many, many, many websites and forums. Many promised stimulating interaction, but eventually my enthusiasm fizzled out, because the few interesting people visiting them were outnumbered, silenced - or simply chased away - by a multitude of ignorant (and quite possibly pubescent) loudmouths.

Of course YouTube has more than its fair share of idiots and vulgar, aggressive loudmouths. However, there's one big difference.

If you go to YouTube, it is presumably to listen to a piece of music or to see a video or a film that you find interesting. Which means that the majority of comments you'll see under any given video will also be from people who are interested in the same thing as you. Some of the feelings and thoughts expressed resonate with you; some resonate in the deepest core of your being.

And because YouTube currently is the most popular such website in the world, it is visited by millions - all sorts of people, from all over the world.

Which is why it is hardly surprising that some of the most incredible, lucid, intelligent, smart, funny, lovely, interesting comments I've seen or heard in my entire life I found on YouTube.

Every now and then, rarely, I happen to stumble upon a person who sounds like the long-lost twin I never had. My heart startles and flutters wildly in recognition, almost in panic, like a bird startled out of its slumber.

When that happens, you want to give the person a heads-up, just to let them know that there is another person out there, in the wide world, that feels or thinks exactly like them.

Or perhaps you want to say something that you feel is vital, on that small, day-to-day scale. Or you want to smile at them.

Or perhaps you simply want to get the heavy load of unexpressed gratitude off your chest, so that your heart, swollen with momentary bliss, can breathe again.

You simply want to say thank you, that was lovely and it made my day better.

That is what I'll miss. My own acknowledgement, small and humble as it may be, of people whose faces I have never seen, but I have seen their mind and their heart. They spoke to me, and I won't forget them.
My acknowledgement may not mean much to them, but it means a lot to me.

I think acknowledgement of what is beautiful, or true, or just feels right, can be as important as creating those values. It has a civilisational value that grows in proportion with the ugliness and vulgarity and ignorance that seem to be sweeping over the WWWorld.

I hear you again: You're willing to abandon something you like that much over a principle?

Yes, I am. It is simply a matter of having choice, but that is compelling enough a reason.

Avalanches are nothing but billions of harmless tiny crystals, as soft as water.

P.SS . When the internet thinks it knows you

Personalized information filters pose a threat to democracy.
(Not to mention that the inability to prevent such gathering and compiling of information about you already is anti-democratic.)

An American Tragedy: How Hollywood Thinks

2011-05-22T22:13:00.012+02:00

Well, this is how it used to think cca 1930, at any rate.

But the bottom line - both literal and figurative - is still in place today.

A Memo from David O. Selznick about An American Tragedy

Read this memo from David O. Selznick, and then, if you like, read the entire script by Sergei Eisenstein.
(The American Tragedy, to which it refers is, of course, the same novel that was later, in 1951, made into the famous film, A Place in The Sun, with Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor and Shelley Winters.)

Another memo from Selznick: keep your bourbon bottle at hand.

This ain't no popcorn stuff.

Memo from David O. Selznick
To: Mr. B. P. Schulberg (General Manager, Paramount)
October 8, 1930

I have just finished reading the Eisenstein adaptation
of [Theodore Dreiser's novel] An American Tragedy. It
was for me a memorable experience; the most moving script
I have ever read. It was so effective, it was positively
torturing. When I had finished reading it, I was so
depressed that I wanted to reach for the bourbon bottle.
As entertainment, I don't think it has one chance in a
hundred.

... Is it too late to persuade the enthusiasts of the
picture from making it? Even if the dialogue rights have
been purchased, even if Dreiser's services have been
arranged for, I think it an unexcusable gamble on the
part of this department to put into a subject as
depressing as this one, anything like the cost that an
Eisenstein production must necessarily entail.

If we want to make An American Tragedy as a glorious
experiment, and purely for the advancement of the art
(which I certainly do not think is the business of this
organization), then let's do it with a [John] Cromwell
directing, and chop three or four hundred thousand
dollars off the loss. If the cry of "Courage!" be raised
against this protest, I should like to suggest that we
have the courage not to make the picture, but to take
whatever rap is coming to us for not supporting
Eisenstein the artist (as he proves himself to be with
this script), with a million or more of the
stockholders' cash.

Let's try new things, by all means. But let's keep these
gambles within the bounds of those that would be indulged
by rational businessmen; and let's not put more money than
we have into any one picture for years into a subject that
will appeal to our vanity through the critical acclaim that must necessarily attach to its production, but that cannot possibly offer anything but a most miserable two hours to millions of happy-minded young Americans.

David O. Selznick

C. Chaminade: "Automne"

2011-05-21T23:31:00.007+02:00

No end of the world today.
But this may be the beginning of a new blog.
Maybe not.

How astrology works (and why you should stay away from it)

2011-05-20T12:07:00.012+02:00

A friendly acquaintance of mine (you know: more than an acquaintance, but less than a friend) emailed me a "tweet" from a famous astrologer. The astrologer was chirping excitedly about May's promises. "You will LOVE May!" said the astrologer, adding that it would be one of the best months of this year.

As I said in an earlier post, I don't really believe in predictive astrology. None of us here do.

Before you hasten to email us that we have to read our ascendant (or rising) sign, too, in order to get an accurate forecast, let me tell you: that's what we've been doing for YEARS now. Reading our ascendant forecasts - only secondarily our sun sign predictions.

But that's a moot point, anyway. This May was "supposed" to be lovely for most signs.

Imagine my friendly acquaintance's nasty surprise when a few days into the merry month of May she was hit with a bill for 1500 + Euros for some debt she did not know she had.

Another friend (different sign) was suddenly faced with a divorce. Just like that - like a bolt out of the blue, her husband asked her for a divorce.

My May days also have been troubled by unexpected setbacks.

I also doubt that Maria Shriver is loving this May. Or Arnold Schwarzenegger, for that matter.

Ot Seve Ballesteros' family.

Or that Gunther Sachs did. An "iconic" figure of the merry 1960s jet set and ex-husband of Brigitte Bardot, he committed suicide on May 6th.

I am mentioning Sachs because astrology was among his more abiding interests. He founded an institute for the study of astropsychology, to find out whether there was any truth in the assertion that sun signs influence character traits.

It turned out there was. At least that's what he claimed in his book The Astrology File: Scientific Proof of the Link Between Star Signs and Human Behavior.

(For some critical observations on the method, see this article, from a good sceptically oriented site on astrology research.)

I believe him. For some obscure reason, there really seems to be a correlation between the position of planets and personality, especially when you take into account the ascendant and other planetary influences, not just the sun sign. I have noticed it many years ago. There are personality traits, predicted by my astrological chart, that are so specific that they cannot be ascribed to pure chance or coincidence.

But how is it possible? How could planets influence a person's behaviour and character?

The truth is, nobody knows. But - to some extent, at least - they do.

One of the most common misconceptions about astrology is that it's the actual, physical planets that influence us. It is not. What seems to be happening - this according to ancient astrologers - is that planets have a sphere of action, of influence, that is immeasurable with ordinary sensory equipment. Just like there is a "subtle heart" in addition to out physical heart, there are also "subtle planets", so to speak (this is my expression, so don't blame the astrologers of yore if you find it silly). And THAT is what is influencing our personalities here on Earth - not the physical, visible and measurable, plane of the planets.

For some reason, however, this does not seem to work for predictive astrology, i.e. astrological forecasting of future events and happenings.

Which is just as well. If you are really interested in the "co-creation" of your life, as the obnoxious but basically accurate expression goes, then forget about astrology. Either you decide what's going to happen - or you don't. You cannot use predictive astrology for "support" because there's always going to be some "negative aspect" lurking somewhere; and your mere awareness of it will, without a doubt, undermine the determination you absolutely need to materialise what you want.

Predictive astrology is at odds with a creator's mind and will. THAT is why all the Christian churches (as well as other major religions) are against astrology. Not because of some obscurantist desire to keep Prometheus shackled - it's the opposite: to give Prometheus the strength to shed his shackles. The lingo they use to explain this may be off-putting to some; but that's the essence of the negative stance on astrology and other predictive methods. Your freedom. Your unshackled WILL, coupled with the fire and light of a heart turned towards Good.

When it comes to "co-creation", it's all or nothing.

No wonder so few succeed.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE:

The Answer

Did Seve Ballesteros change the image of Spain?

2011-05-12T03:48:00.000+02:00

That's what Kevin Myers, from the (Irish) Independent, is claiming.

Seve's Dignity and Joy Rewrote World's Image of Spanish People

I am not sure I agree with Mr. Myers.

But that, my friends, is one good, funny, illuminating and, oh yes, funny article to read.

You almost forget it's an obituary.

And you don't even have to like golf.

The Wedding

2011-05-01T18:47:00.023+02:00

A few of our regular readers (I am constantly amazed that we have any of those!) have been discreetly prying into our - especially Lynx's - opinion about the wedding. Wills & Kate's. William and Catherine's.

It turns out none of us has seen it live in its entirety. One made sure to see the arriving guests and then left for a picnic; another two saw the latter part of the ceremony; yet another one also saw the two kisses.

But of course, with so many channels retransmitting the event in its entirety, it was not difficult to reconstruct it.

Do we have a consensual opinion?

No. So I'll only give mine.

Venue and decoration:
Westminster Abbey is possibly the most magnificent venue for a ceremony of any kind. The decoration - with young trees (then to be transplanted) - was to die for, in my opinion. It was perfect.

Music selection:
A -. It was glorious.

(The minus refers to the absence of the music that I would have wanted to hear, but then I was not the one getting married.)

Reading and sermon:
Perfect.
I still do not quite grasp the relevance of the chosen reading to the occasion, but it was a wonderful passage - and it was very well read. Who knew a cake master could read so well, with such impeccable timing and sense of drama? (It may sound snide, but it isn't.)

And the sermon was just wonderful: to the point and pronounced in a lively, personally affecting manner.

The bride's dress:
Catherine looked very graceful and dignified in it, which is what matters the most. The "old fashioned" veil - not frilly, but falling smoothly over the face, and long - was a total success in my eyes.

The cut of the dress suited Catherine, and she did a great job complementing it with the right posture. (Her walk was less than perfect at certain points, but that's a minor quibble.)

However, I did not like the neckline, or the upper part of the dress in general.

The V-neckline is very tricky. In reality - as opposed to theory - it is not really flattering to anyone except very busty women (because it visually slims the torso), and there is something inherently "dowdy" about it, so it has to be cut very low - much lower than Catherine's was - to transcend that. But of course a very low-cut neckline would be too risky and inappropriate for such an occasion, unless it were very narrow, perhaps partly held together with buttons.

I wish she had chosen a Sabrina, a portrait or even a bateau neckline. They always looks elegant, even "regal", and they flatter practically all figures, except the very busty (which Catherine is not), and even there are exceptions. From among more revealing necklines, the empire neckline would have been very nice, I think, even though it would visually elongate Catherine's already longish neck. (Which would have been perfectly all right.)

Lace is always beautiful, but this particular combination with the V-neckline - or "scalloped" neckline - did not strike me as particularly successful. It looked like a "half-baked" solution, almost as an afterthought.

All in all, I did not think it was a striking dress. There was not enough for the eye to linger on it (and I don't mean frills or beads or sequins, nothing like that). But Catherine did look very nice and regal in it. My grievance is that she could have looked regally WOW in a differently shaped bodice.

The bridesmaid's dress:
Perfectly cut, perfectly suited to the bridesmaid's body, and perfectly worn (with excellent posture and rhythm).
The neckline, however, was about 3-4 centimetres (about an inch and a half) too low.
A bridesmaid should never upstage the bride - which is why the white colour of the dress was actually perfect, because it blended with the bride's train, almost as a live extension of it - and a low cut dress, with hints of cleavage, does just that. It is simply not appropriate.

The kiss(es):
As always, unnecessary. But these two pecks were actually endearing, especially because William blushed (twice).

I hear some American commentators were "disappointed" in it.

Really? In what, precisely?

This is not a reality show - even though it was treated as such - and slobbering has no place at any wedding, let alone on such a public occasion. A weddding is the most intimate of all ceremonies; and while a display of affection is to be expected and applauded (not literally), more intimate expressions of said affection are not. They embarrass the onlookers - at least those onlookers that haven't been totally brainwashed by the Big Brother era of visual culture. And, believe it or not, there are still quite a few of us left on this God's earth.

Which brings me to the most awkward and somewhat painful point of this reluctantly written post... Do they really love each other?

I don't know. You don't know - unless you are either Wills or Kate. Nobody knows.

And I certainly hope they do. But judging on the body language alone - realising that it is a very tricky thing to do, because bodily expressions of intimate feelings are highly individual and should never be generalised - I am simply not sure that they are as much in love as the commentators around the world would want them to be.

Charles and Camilla positively beamed on the day of their engagement and later, on the day of their wedding; you cannot fake that. And they still exude a comfortable and happy togetherness.

William and Catherine's body language, on the other hand, is ambiguous at best.

I have yet to see a single shot of them together where he looks into her eyes for more than a split second, before averting his eyes.

Perhaps this is due to the Prince's notoriously (and understandably!) reserved personality.

Or perhaps editors around the world are choosing such shots to be published and discarding more intimate ones. It sounds unlikely but it is possible.

Be it as it may, I do hope they will be happy together, because anyone's happiness is a boon to the world. It makes the world a little better a place for everyone.

P.S. This is a sketch. It will be heavily edited and added to in the future.

P.P.S. According to Basenotes - which have been vandalised (who hacks a perfume website?! Kate, was that you?) - Catherine wore White Gardenia Petals perfume, by Illuminum.
According to various websites copying each other, the top note is coconut, followed by the middle notes of gardenia, ylang-ylang, jasmine, and the base note of amber.
According to the maker's own website, there is no coconut note, the top note being lilly, the heart notes white gardenia, muguet (= lily-of-the-valley) and "jasmine breeze", with a bottom note of amber wood clinching the composition.

All of which would be slightly more impressive if one of the only six words printed on the bottle weren't misspelled.

Apparently spelling isn't the forte of whoever the copywriter - and editor, and proof-reader - of Illuminum's marketing material is. In their description of the Wild Tobacco fragrance, they say that "the base of Labdanum adds a sostenato chord of sensuousness and depth."
Sostenato? Surely you mean sostenuto?

Does this sound like nitpicking to you?
Nitpicking would be devoting an entire post to this.
And let me tell you: if you want to present the appearance of high class and solid culture underlying your fragrance brewing (or any public-oriented activity, really), you shouldn't offer any nit to pick. It produces an impression that is very likely the opposite of what you're trying to achieve.

Just lay off the "fancy" words. It's more honest, more endearing, and much easier than a crash course in general culture.

The Teeth of Time

2011-04-15T21:33:00.013+02:00

On this day in 1452 Leonardo, (illegitimate) son of Piero, was born in Vinci.

Happy birthday, Nardo, wherever you are.
Your life may not have been as wasted as you yourself felt it was.

On this day in 1912 the Titanic sank.

And it appears today that not even its skeletal remains may make it to the 100th anniversary.

Apparently a "gigantic organism" - with "social intelligence", no less - is devouring it.

But you can still hear the Titanic's wail.

Time has a hard time silencing wails.

On this day in 1993 I returned from a one month stay in Italy and absolutely magical five hours in Venice. (If you think Venice is the same as Italy, think again.)

The return was just as eventful as the stay.

On this day in 2011 I found myself to be the ugly cousin of myself.

Not just today or this year, but since the day I was born.

But this, too, will pass.

And experience tells me that not necessarily further in the southward direction.

Life is only as expected as you expect it to be.

(Yes, sometimes even platitudes are true.)

The Man Who Did Not See God

2011-04-12T16:02:00.015+02:00

50 years ago today the first human was ejected into space, and the Space Age began in earnest.

He was, of course, Yuri Gagarin, a young Soviet (Russian) pilot, whose life was cut short only seven years later, in an airplane crash.

Yuri Gagarin: his life in pictures

Gagarin is famous for his alleged statement that he "didn't see any God up here". In fact, this statement of his is almost as famous as Neil Armstrong's first words on the Moon.

Only - much like Armstrong's words - these words weren't his. What's more, nobody ever heard him say them. There is no record of them in the transcripts of orbit-to-Earth conversations. In fact, the only source appears to be a speech by Khruschev, the then-president of the USSR, who used Gagarin's achievement and popularity for political and ideological purposes, much like the USA astronauts' achievements were used by politicians and propaganda as a source of reflected glory.

Specifically, Khruschev used - or just plain invented - Gagarin's alleged words for anti-religious propaganda during a speech of his: "Gagarin told me he didn't see any God up there!"

According to a reported recent interview with a high official of the Russian Orthodox Church, the Gagarins used to celebrate Christmas and Easter, and Yuri had his two daughters baptised. (If you think this is purely a formality, think again. In the USSR such "formalities" were strongly frowned upon, and could cost a person their job and all chances of promotion in the future.)

According to Gagarin's friend, cosmonaut Alexei Leonov, upon his return to Earth Gagarin was asked by Khruschev did he see God up there, to which Gagarin supposedly replied: "Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, I have." You can read the rest of the anecdote here.

To me, this sounds like one of those "tall tales" that people are prone to spin, especially when they age and look back with nostalgia to their youth, and then gradually start to believe them themselves. But of course, I wasn't there, so I could not possibly tell whether it's the truth or not.

This is what Gagarin did say, according to his friends:

"Someone who never met God on Earth,
would never meet Him in space"

Whatever anyone may think of the notion of God - amen to that.

***

P.S. Have you noticed how similar Gagarin and Armstrong look?

It's uncanny!

Going, goeing... gone

2011-04-08T14:41:00.011+02:00

It is here. If anyone needed conclusive evidence of the downfall of elemental culture - AKA literacy - and the internet's deleterious contribution to it, it is neatly encapsulated in this little "bubble" that pops up in the popular pop oracle called Yahoo Answers.

Hmm...it looks like you have a lot of punctuation.

If it were a joke, it would have been a delightful one.

It reminded me of a scene in Forman's film Amadeus. If you've seen the film, you'll know which scene I mean.

Alas, it is no joke.

And unlike Forman's emperor, this naked emperor has no mouth, or even a mind of its own, to reply to the only pertinent, logical question: "And which punctuation marks did you have in mind, Your Majesty?"

Then again, there are also precious few "Mozarts" around to ask the question.

I dislike the word "despise" as I dislike the sentiment itself; I dislike it with a passion. All right, I hate it.

But there really is no other word that would describe my sentiments towards Yahoo Answers quite as accurately as despise.

Once in a blue moon - perhaps once a year or once every two years - a question happens to catch my eye, that I feel I could answer in a way that the asker might profit from it.

Which is why I only found this pop-up in question now.

Apparently it has been around - or at least bugging people - since the summer of 2008, at least.

And yet, three years later it is still here, unabashed.

What does that tell you?

It tells me why the name "Yahoo" is uncannily befitting.

It also tells me what its consumers are being reared and encouraged to be.

Yahoos, rednecks, yokels, hillbillies who are liberally throwing away the intellectual and personal liberty, the freedom so hard-won by generations before them, in exchange for convenient, cozy servitude to money- and power-hungry pimp-bots.

It also tells me that in this WWWorld there aren't enough people who care enough to revolt against the onslaught of mental vulgarity, sloth and debasement, to make it go away. Because if there were, it would have gone away by now. Virtual visitors mean cash; angry virtual visitors mean that much less cash.

And punctuation, while we're at it, means fine articulation of thought.

But only thought that is articulated needs it. And given enough time, many people who still try accurately to express the meanders of their thought might cave in under the weight of inertia and start to feel that punctuation is, after all, redundant. A luxury. Something that few have and few care to understand, let alone appreciate, anymore.

Then, the arcane law of reciprocity will kick in, and eventually their thought will not need punctuation anymore. They will have become intellectual and emotional flatliners. Lobotomised Cro-Magnon creatures, (un)dressed in designer clothes, with cell phones instead of ears and the internet instead of their own brain.

People who need oracles.

Ήξεις αφήξεις ουκ εν πόλεμω θνίξεις

IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE:

Google, the Dumbed-Down Machine

Not an April Fools' Joke

2011-04-03T21:13:00.010+02:00

(But occasionally funny all the same.)

Not the 50 Books You Must Read Before You Die

Meet my new Cerberus - Avast!

2011-03-31T15:18:00.009+02:00

Ever since Symantec clogged my PC's brain, many years ago now, and made it unusable (it's a long, long story...), I used Grisoft's wonderful free-of-charge antivirus software, backed up by Spybot Search & Destroy. It was light, it was effective and it cost nothing.

(One of the things I discovered thanks to the experience with Symantec was that most individual users do not really need the heavy - and I mean HEAVY - artillery of paid AV programs. Good freeware programs are much lighter and just as effective, unless you regularly crawl through swamps of viruses and Trojans.)

In June 2008 Grisoft discontinued support for its free edition.

Since I never really needed any support, I didn't mind. But I did notice that small problems started to pop up here and there during updates and such.

Most of all, I love trying new software, so I decided to shop around (or rather, freeb around) for an alternative to Grisoft.

I've tried too many software programs to even remember - let alone compare - them all right now, so I'll just skip to the one that impressed me enough to adopt it permanently.

AVAST!

It is light, it is very effective (in my experience), its interface is very user-friendly - and it is free of charge.

The free edition does NOT offer anti-spam protection or protection against hackers. But most people have other programs - or just the appropriate settings enabled on their OS - that do.

(Besides, with so many people using Gmail nowadays, spam has become a very minor issue for many.)

I've been using it for more than six months now, and I am very pleased with it.

If you try it and want to let someone know how well - or how badly - it worked for you, you know where to write. ;)

Goodbye, Violet Eyes

2011-03-23T23:32:00.015+01:00

She has left us - the last true "icon" of Hollywood.

Yes, there are many famous actors much older than her - and probably better actors than her - still left.

But being famous, even "legendary", does not automatically bring the status she had.

She embodied the kind of stardom that is unattainable nowadays - the Icon, familiar to all generations in any given home.

And today the world, surprisingly or not, feels much emptier without her.

Certainly unsurprisingly, most of the recent coverage of her passing dwells on her eyes. Her violet eyes. Did she or didn't she have violet eyes?

Ah, those eyes! They really were extraordinary - but not necessarily, certainly not only, because of their colour or "prettiness".
When she was a child, her eyes were old beyond her years. They were solemn, earnest, questioning eyes; and always, always there was in them a voracious, almost desperate hunger for life.
As she grew up, and grew older, the eyes remained the same; the hunger for life remained the same, perhaps tinged with awareness that nothing lasts forever - not beauty, not love, not life.

But fair enough: did Elizabeth Taylor have violet eyes?

Those who knew her say, almost without exception, that she did, yes. Startling violet eyes that cinema goers never really saw. Not even the best camera film is a match for the colours of Nature.

Of course "violet" eyes are, in fact, blue eyes shaded by (in her case) double rows of eyelashes - a genetic mutation of the most felicitous kind.

And she wasn't the only one in the world who had them.

Princess Margaret's eyes were said to be almost violet at times.

So are Terence Stamp's eyes.

And the eyes of many anonymous people across the world.

But there was only one Elizabeth Taylor: the shrew, the wench, the loud and passionate woman who wrecked many a heart, including her own, and contributed to the (not exclusively cinematic) entertainment of millions; the compassionate and fiercely loyal generous friend; the selfish home-wrecker and courageous survivor; the mediocre-to-OK but always gorgeous decoration of many films, and the astonishingly effective and unforgettably poignant actress in A Place in the Sun and Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf?; the Film Star par excellence.

Regardless of personal tastes, her beauty was undisputed by all and sundry.

And contrary to many internet postings, I think she aged quite well, all things considered.

She didn't have the best stylists - they should have told her to lighten her eyebrows and darken her hair, not the other way around - but if you look at her most recent photos, the essence of her beauty was untouched. All the booze and excesses did remarkably little damage to her skin - and none to her eyes.

Only Life inflicted damage to her eyes - to her gaze.

It was a sad gaze, damp with regret - the regret we are all familiar with: the cruel passing of the tender buds of May. Not even of their beauty but of their promise: the promise of rainbow's ends to be chased, of inexpressible secret bliss that the Future - and the Future only - holds.

Farewell, Elizabeth.

I hope - for your sake and for the sake of all of us - that there really is a dimension, a Time, that runs parallel to ours, unseen but perhaps felt at times, where you can chase rainbows again and your eyes dare to be young again.

Blogger hates Chrome. And Firefox. And Flock.

2011-03-20T17:29:00.014+01:00

Come to think of it... is there ANY browser that Blogger doesn't hate?

In the past few years we've been struggling with this blasted site via every browser imaginable.

FIREFOX

First, it was just about everything regarding formatting: uploading images, changing the font or its colour... you name it, it got it. The most annoying part was probably the fact that after prolonged editing it just stopped reacting to it. It's not that it froze or anything; it simply did not seem to "register" any editing changes.
(The image uploading seems to have gotten a little better. That's it.
Then again, it may have gotten "better" simply because I do not use Firefox for editing anymore.)

Then, Amazon widgets as well as Amazon book cover links disappeared from view (and haven't returned - although they are perfectly visible in other browsers).

Then, in the past year or so, the QUICK EDIT button simply disappeared.
(Yes, we do have it enabled. We're not as stupid as Blogger apparently think we are.)

In order to edit a post, we have to click the Log In button on the upper right side, which brings us to the Dashboard page, and only from there we can select the post to edit.

It keeps forcing the damned Apple-style formatting, which makes it impossible to edit the colour and size of the font.

It is practically impossible to acces the "Advanced" tab in the Template Designer. The page appears to be loading, loading, loading... indefinitely.

It simply does not work.

CHROME

I've been using it for almost two years now, on and off.

At first, it appeared to perform much better than Firefox. At the very least, we didn't have to resort to "logging in" (again and again) to edit the posts because the Quick Edit button was visible.
Not anymore.

And, as in Firefox, it keeps forcing the Apple-style formatting, which in turn forces us to spend frustratingly long hours undoing it.

FLOCK

Until a few days ago, Flock was, by far, the best browser among those we use to edit Blogger. The Quick Edit button always showed, as did the Amazon widgets and links.

The latter still work - but the Quick Edit button is not visible anymore.

And, as in Firefox, the "Advanced" tab in the Template Designer more often than not simply does not load. It is fun to watch those three dots running again and again, though... ... ... ...

SAFARI

We do not use Safari anymore, at least not for the time being, but there were countless problems with it, mostly - but not exclusively - with image uploading. In a nutshell, it simply wouldn't do it.

INTERNET EXPLORER

Sorry, we do not use IE anymore, haven't used it since 2003 or 2004.
But feel free to report any problems - or the lack thereof - that you are having with it. We'll be glad to publish it.

Since the original draft of this entry, some three weeks ago, a few other - even more serious - problems have cropped up. While using the Blogger (new) Template Designer we find it impossible to change the colour of the post titles or the font of the body text.
Not even editing the HTML seems to work.

The new Blogger template designer, while very rich in fonts, is ridiculously user-unfriendly. For example, why is there no colour editing of the title itself available in the "Post" section? You can define the font, the colour of the background and of the border - but not of the post title itself.
In order to define the colour of the post title you have to go to... I forget.

Where's the rationale for that? And why isn't it explained anywhere in the "Help" section? The full extent of the help-lessness of Blogger's "Help" section is illustrated by the fact that there are many unrelated blogs, some better than others, showng people how to do what Blogger and its employees should teach them how to do.

And by the way, why is it that the archiving offers no "titles only" option?
As readers of other people's blogs we know that titles are much more attractive and interesting than dates.
We're not into blogging for the money (duh!) but we still want our readers to have a good time on our blogs and access the posts that might be of interest to them as quickly as possible.

If I were reading this entry without first-hand knowledge of Blogger editing, my first question would be: "Have you told them - Blogger - about it?"

No, not anymore.

Two of us reported the problems as soon as they arose, years ago. We never got any (intelligent) answers. The few answers we did get were from fellow bloggers who were apparently as befuddled as we were; and there was, I think, a reply from a Blogger "official", who clearly had no idea what she was talking about or - more likely - didn't bother to really read the query in the first place.

That's the problem with Blogger - and that's the problem with Google in general: they simply dont care about the finer points - or their "finer" users.

The "point" that is of interest to them is how much money they can squeeze out, while smothering the competition in its cradle, if possible - by brute force, not by accomplishment.

Which means catering to the majority, which appears to be increasingly dumbed down - not least thanks to Google itself. Which is why their services are becoming increasingly cumbersome and time-consuming for anyone who wants to use the internet as a library - not as a playground for the mentally impaired.

I hear Google is a fine company to work for. They have lots and lots of fun together, in those offices of theirs.

I believe it. I used to work in a collaborative environment (not an office, properly speaking) that was mostly pure joy. Often I could not wait to get to the "office"; and very, very often we hung out together for hours after the work day was over.

However, the fun we had was reflected in the high quality of our work, which was every bit as public-targeted as Google's is.

We listened to the public and did our best to excel. The fact that we had such a grand time working together only made our efforts run smoother - it did not make us complacent.

And that's what Google appears to be. Complacent.

Not a good sign. Because, sooner or later, there will be someone better, "prettier", more intelligent, more capable than them, and more attuned to the needs of the people, who, after all, keep search machines going - in other words, a competitor that will give them a run for their money.

And their empire will come crashing down like you wouldn't believe it. They certainly wouldn't. Complacent idiots never do, until it's too late.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh on Google employees. After all, we were not doing our work for the money only, as they seem to.

IF YOU (DIS)LIKED THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE THIS:

* Google the Dumbed Down Machine

* Goolture, or The Twilight of Culture

Why I Heart Roger Ebert and Shirley Valentine

2011-03-14T03:30:00.016+01:00

I love film. I love watching films, I love reading about them (one of the first books I ever bought with my own earned money was a second-hand copy of Georges Sadoul's Histoire générale du cinéma) and talking about them.
Writing about them... not really. Which is why I, speaking generally, don't like film critics. Or, more precisely, I often find their writing slightly redundant and often irrelevant. With one major exception: Roger Ebert.

This man not only writes from a perspective that I find very comfortable because I feel it is very close to my point of view, but has actually made me reconsider my opinion on more than one film. And he did that not by resorting to a thicket of (pseudo)intellectual verbiage and implicit bashing of any vantage point different to his (basically amounting to "if your opinion on this film is different from mine, you're an idiot"), but by means of sheer wit - oh, he is witty! - and a very human, direct (not bookish) perception of the world and the role of cinema within it.

Having read many, many of his pieces - certainly all his pieces about my favourite films - I also find it quite remarkable that his early pieces, written when he was very young (not only as a critic but as a man), already possess the maturity of view and voice - and, perhaps even more remarkably, the human warmth - typical of the 2010 edition of Ebert-the-critic and Ebert-the-man.

I do not read Ebert uncritically, with an a priori judgement that he must be "right". He just happens to be "right" in my eyes. Well, most of the time.

Which is why I was so suprised recently, when I read his review of the well-loved British film Shirley Valentine (1989).

I never thought Ebert would give it, say, "two thumbs up", but never expected he would give it ONE STAR, either.

He calls it "a realistic drama of appalling banality" and says that "there were moments during the movie when I cringed at the manipulative dialogue as the heroine recited warmed-over philosophy and inane one-liners when she should have been allowed to speak for herself."

One-liners can be as obnoxious and ultimately self-defeating as they are (when they are) brilliant. And Shirley Valentine is full of those.

But I know I did not love this film (with certain reservations, but that is a given) because of the one-liners alone, although I do remember many of them, for I found them witty (within their own idiom and context).

I liked it because those one-liners, surprisingly, did not seem contrived.

They did not sound realistic, mind you. But that never was the intention of its maker, at least as I see it. As I see it, he decided to paint a life of self-conscious inadequacy - and genuine yearning - as reflected through the idealised pictures that TV, romance novels and advertisement slogans offer of the world. Both sides of this particular mirror are poignant in their banality.

Shirley Valentine was speaking for herself.

At one point, Shirley says: "Why do we get all this life if we don't ever use it?"

(Followed by: "Why do we get all these feelings and dreams and hopes if we don't ever use them? That's where Shirley Valentine disappeared to. She got lost in all this unused life.")

That, I think, is the core point of the "philosophy" behind this film.

It is such an ordinary question - no, not really a question: a sentiment, an unspoken feeling. It is generic, in the most literal sense of the word.
But the fact that it is generic does not make it less genuine.
And the fact that so often it remains unspoken may be one of the reasons why so many people liked this and other one-liners.

I am no desperate housewife pining for a dashing mustacheoed Greek - or any stereotype, or any man, for that matter - to "make fock with me" on some sunlit shore; I've had enough of those (except for the first item on the list) and I am ever free to "fly away like birds in the springtime", to borrow Jules Munchin's words from a wonderfully horrid Dean Martin vehicle.

So it cannot be the "escapism" that appeals to me, except in the generally human - dare I say transcendent? - longing for something more. More something.

However, it doesn't really matter why it appeals to me. I would never be writing about it, if Ebert's critique hadn't misunderstood - in my opinion, obviously - the role of stereotypical thinking and expression in this film.

Stereotypes are something that I love to hate with an irrepressible passion. They have no place in art - except when they are acknowledged for poetic purposes, as they are here.

The Greek lover not only is a stereotypical figure - he is supposed to be one.

Furthermore, vis-a-vis Shirley and other female tourists, he thinks of himself in stereotypical terms. Many gigolos do. (Before you ask: no!)

People - not all people, but very many, especially if they see no way out of a life that has fallen short of their vague youthful expectations - really do believe the image that the world presents to them. They believe in the mirror reflection of themselves that it seems to offer.

And so, Shirley's monologues may not be the most profound utterances that ever came out of a human mouth - but they are genuine. And because they are genuine, they are moving. People identify with those same stereotypes she is mulling over. And, believe me, Ebert, to see a sun setting over a foreign sea does not only sound good because of its rhythm and alliteration- never understimate the very real power of calliphony! - but it emblematically verbalises, with all the appropriate pathos, as touching as it is paltry (perhaps touching because it is paltry), the modest "dreams" of many a desperate housewife.
(BTW, I would never have picked this example on my own; to be honest, I did not even remember this sentence. I am only referring to it because Ebert did.)

Do I believe that the director set out to deconstruct or mock stereotypes?
No, not at all.
But I do believe that his conscious use of stereotypes presented as a part of daily life, of his heroine as well as of the viewers, was clever. Not really a stroke of genius, but clever. And clearly effective.

He is addressing human yearning in the purposefully limited terms of specific nuisances - namely, the everyday routine and the lacklustre state of marriage after 20 years of coexistence and the couple's progressive paring down of each one's Self - and "dreams" that are pitifully humble themselves: all they want is to escape the drudgery, to find out whether there still is some of their old Self left in them (even though that Self itself was never more than a promise, never to be fully achieved). They are looking for yesterday's promise of tomorrow, if only to get a breather from everyday life.

To address this, the writer uses an "idiom" understandable to most contemporary viewers: the idiom of people who use mass media-propagated platitudes and stereotypes as shorthand for what they really, really feel and want to say. They know - most of them, I dare assume - that there is more to life and more to expression than that. They just don't have the time - mental time, or more accurately, the timelessness, the lack of constraint, of this mental time - to bother with it.

Within that idiom the witty and warm humour of this film works very well; at least I thought so.

Shirley isn't pompous; she is not even deluded. She is no Emma Bovary.
All she wants is some warmth, some "excitement" - for excitement equals youth, and youth equals promise, equals tomorrow, equals time - some acknowledgment that she still got some of that promise of long ago in her. She needs to talk; and if it has to be in the shorthand of almost slogan-like nuggets, so be it. She knows what she means.
And so do we.

Ah yes - the we.
Who exactly are we?
The Shirleys of this world are the men and women of the Western world who fall somewhere in between the Platos and the Aesopi of this world: not rich, most not even wealthy, but well off enough not to be cornered by hunger into a place where there is little room for reflection, let alone expression, of anything except the most basic instincts and the faint self-shame that goes with it (and in time goes away) - basically decent men and women, who like a good read, a good film, a bit of fun, always faintly wondering in the back of their minds where did the life go that they once thought they would have.

To put it very simply: he speaks of the Shirleys of this world, and this is the reflection of their doubts that they like to see. It employs a language they are confortable with: the language of well-domesticated artifice. So well domesticated, in fact, that it is a genuine part of their lives.
And because this lingua franca is propagated by all means of mass communications, they are familiar to all of us.

Most of all, the human dissatisfaction, the yearning for the life that always seems to be elsewhere, is known to every single human, either as a memory or as a currrent reality.

In ancient Greece, all the philosophers and writers were men of leisure. They were free to pursue loftier paths of self-discovery - and expression. They didn't have to work for their daily sustenance and push nagging dislikes aside, so they could function as expected from them.
Their slaves did that for them.
Yes, there was Aesopos.
But there was also another Aesopos - the one that you'll never hear about. Thousands and thousands of them, who maybe did not have the Aesopos' talent, or drive, or luck - and yet, they were as (dis)content as anyone would be in their position. Or to put it another way, had they been rich, those same Aesopoi would have had the leisure to find a mode of expression tailored to their specific thoughts and feelings.
Or not.
Not all slaves were Aesopos.
But not all men of leisure were Plato, either.

You see, people often DO think in stereotypes and - observe the coming paradox - genuinely reflect on their own lives in stereotypical terms. How could they not, when they are served stereotypes all day long, from the moment they turn on the radio or read the papers in the morning?

This is especially true of those who do not have the leisure to ignore the public media or to fend off its influence, as did that famous 18th century nobleman whose name escapes me but who said that he never read newspapers because he did not want them to spoil his writing style.
And, after all, that's precisely why Madame Bovary is just as relevant - or perhaps even more so - as it was when it was first published. (It is also relevant because of its damn fine writing, of course, but that's a given, too.)

(Original post, written on October 23, 2010, left unfinished and unedited.)

N.B. This is most categorically not a film critique - not even a criticism of a critique (or the critic).

Just what is it, I don't know.
But now that I think of it, I am writing this on a Saturday evening...
Maybe I've been glancing into that mirror of mirages for too long myself.

No Comment

2011-03-13T20:49:00.007+01:00

If you want - or, more likely, need - to see the devastation water can bring, visit the New York Times photo-report below.
And use the slider.

BEFORE and AFTER

Local colour, distant light

2011-02-17T01:42:00.004+01:00

Nice pic of the pyramids, eh?
Even if they are a dime a dozen.

Not so fast.
Unless you've seen this photo - which is quite likely by now - I am willing to bet that this photograph of the pyramids is unlike any you've ever seen.

You see, the light that effected this image - the light that you're seeing when you see those pyramids, that Moon on that sky - is the light of a day that was and vanished more than 80 years ago. A fraction of that day's light, actually.

If you want to see more, go here:

How to Be a Retronaut

HINT: The pyramid photograph above isn't even the most impressive of the lot.
Gervais Courtellemont - the photographer - was one talented guy.

Beautiful, beautiful bark

2011-01-07T04:09:00.008+01:00

No, no dog speak here.
(Although there might have been one or two nearby, just off-camera, having a meaningful conversation while standing on three paws. :))

Have a look.

Greeting to the Unknown Human (and non-human, too)

2010-12-31T22:48:00.013+01:00

Hello, dear you,

I am thinking of you tonight, this New Year's Eve, with fireworks lighting the dark December skies before fading into silently falling cinders, among the distant sounds of merry people from afar.

Many people are faking joy tonight.
There's no harm in that.
Faking joy is still better than faking a sadness deeper than it is, or displaying despair, or affecting boredom, which is a crime.

Faking joy is a way - a timid way - of expressing hope.
And that is all we need, all of us. Hope. And faith.
That is all the love - all the caritas- we really need, because it is that secret sense of being loved, after all, that fuels hope and feeds faith in the first place.

You are loved.
That's all I wanted to tell you tonight.

Your personal loneliness is felt by many out there that you've never met in person.
Your true talents, sadly wasted, a source of burning regrets, are still there, and they are acknowledged, even if you never have the opportunity to display them publicly.

Your bittersweet memories, seemingly so humble in their seeming smallness, less than a whisper in in this loud world, the memory of your sorrows, your joys, your hopes - even those that were dashed - live on in me, and in many others, even though we may never learn the name given to you by others, or see your face.

The eye of God sees all your worth, undiscovered by others.
And that worth, you very Self, will live forever and ever - because it has existed since the beginning of time.

I don't know your name, and I don't know your address, that's why I am posting this here.
I know that you may not read English; or read at all.
I know you possibly, quite probably, do not have internet access.
In fact, you may not even be a human.

But you are life, irreplaceable in your seeming smallness.
And thought can span nameless deserts, penetrate the darkest forests of the unknown, and reach you.
Just keep your eyes and your ears - and your heart - alert.
We are here.

You may feel you're forgotten and forsaken, but you are not.
I am thinking of you, with all the warmth and respect - and hope - that my heart, this little chip off God's heart, is capable of.

Fare well, dear you unknown.
The road is endless.
And there is nothing to be afraid of. Ever.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU MIGHT ENJOY THIS:

The Little Green Stick

Underrated Websites, II

2010-11-20T22:06:00.005+01:00

If you love music, YouTube is fine. It is very fine, in fact.

But often people want to just listen song after song - of their own choosing - without being lured by video content or having to choose a new tune every three minutes or so. An internet radio, as it were.

For those people, the internet is not as rich as one might imagine.

Pandora works - or used to work - for USA listeners only.

But there is a whole wide world outside the USA, and that world is inhabited by people who like music.

For those people the least hassle-free website we've found so far is this:

JANGO

It still has a long way to go, in terms of music selection.

But as it is now, its future looks promising... provided it doesn't succumb to the "social media" pressure and starts making things difficult for those who won't register just to listen to a couple of tunes.

Keep it simple, Jango, and we'll love you by the millions.

Here is the previous entry in UNDERRATED WEBSITES.

When You Wish Upon the Moon

2010-11-19T19:57:00.013+01:00

Somebody - quite a lot of people - told me that the full moon has the astrologically demonstrated (?) effect of bringing things to fruition. Specifically, things that were started - wished upon - at the time of the new moon (i.e. the opposite of the full moon - the "empty" moon :)).

I am not much into astrology, although I am not dismissing it totally.

But I am very much into anything that makes people happy, and that includes the realisation of their purest, most heartfelt wishes.

Many people seem to think that the deepest secrets of our befuddled existence have to be uttered by noted philosophers, or, at the very least, by "published authors" (of books or - o tempora, o mores - noted blogs. And we're not naming any names...)

But having read and heard and seen and experienced as much I have, I have noticed that sometimes the most astonishing nuggets of true wisdom are to be found in -B films (yes, that's a B minus ), or in popular songs.

Here is one, a very simple and beloved one, from the 1940 Disney production of Pinocchio.

It is a very nice song.

But it's more than that.

There is a single line in it that contains the entire truth of all "self realisation" and "manifestation" books put together.

You'll have to find it yourself.

But finding it is only the beginning.

Iif you do not believe it is true - if you don't LIVE its truth - then all the Rhonda Byrnes of this world won't help you. You might as well stop reading all that junk - and even good books of the kind - right now.

Happy Full Moon time to all of us.

A-Tcho!

2010-11-04T06:19:00.010+01:00

It's not a sneeze, but Gesundheit, or "to your health", apparently still is the right answer to this one.

One of the bizarre pleasures of blogging is that you get to write about things in which you have a purely anthropological interest.

Chocolate being one of them.
I am told I am a rare bird (which, I think, is a euphemism for a different expression) for not loving chocolate.
It is not that I dislike it - certainly not in general.
And there have been many, many occasions when I absolutely enjoyed the experience.

It's just that when picking a dessert, for example, chocolate would be the last thing on my mind. I love caramel, for example; and I like a good, moist cake - as long as it doesn't contain chocolate.
I will eat it - often, not always - but I would not choose it for myself.

What I do like - love, honour and respect - is good craftmanship, genuine dedication, professional pluck, creativity and integrity.
Which is why I could spend days, not hours, admiring jewelry - which I absolute abhor wearing (and don't, not a single piece).

And which is why I am now writing about chocolate, of all things.
I may not crave it myself, but have friends who do.
And most of all, I am always touched to see a few talented and courageous people trying to make a dent in the bastion-like snobbery of the food business. (See this NYT article for details.)

With all that in mind, I present you TCHO.

I am not associated with them in any way, I only heard about them today - thanks, NYT! - and have no vested interest in their business success or failure.

But as someone who loves sensible, people-oriented creativity and individual dedication in a standardised and homogenised world, I am rooting for them.

Am I a Quiz?

2010-11-03T15:30:00.010+01:00

I am inquisitive.
And people do give me quizzical looks (or just myopic, for all I know) all too often for comfort.
But I haven't been made into a quiz, not yet. That is for dead (or thereabouts) pop celebrities.

I don't even like quizzes - with a few exceptions.
If you do, you'll LOVE AquizIam.
The same goes for lovers of challenging riddles and games.
And mysteries.

So, we have a new favourite website. Well, I have.
But knowing my mates, they'll be spending time there like the crazy bats that they are. (Stylish crazy bats, though!)

As a matter of fact, I'll be sending this specific item over to Time Slips, so don't compound your understandable Angst by suspecting deja vu, too.

The Museum of Lost Wonder

2010-07-01T20:54:00.003+02:00

Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Have a look.

The Museum of Lost Wonder

And if you're wondering how we found it (or even if you're not), it was thanks to this extraordinary blog.

The Esoteric Blog

Enjoy.
(That's about the most you can do in this world.)

People are passively intelligent. What does this mean for plants?

2010-06-14T02:13:00.017+02:00

A co-blogger sent me a link to Cynthia Sue Larson's website today, where I found a link to an article called Plants are Actively intelligent. (Do you find this headline as frighteningly backward as I do, I wonder? It was not written by Cynthia Sue Larson, by the way.)

After my initial "duh" moment I became more than a little angry with the angle of the article, intimated by the second sentence of the title: What Does This Mean for Vegetarians?

As a vegetarian, I am rather used to shallow silliness parading as intellectually powerful insight - usually coming from people who find themselves unable to give up eating meat, even if they know how it's "harvested". (So much for will power and/or moral strength...)
So I surfed on to the original source of the article - the New York Times.

Unsurprisingly, the "angle" was the same, and the title just as obnoxious, or even more so: Sorry, Vegans: Brussels Sprouts Like to Live, Too.
(And by the way... what is the author "sorry" about, I wonder?)

But the article itself really deserves your attention. It is thoughtfully - and well - written.

Yes, plants are actively (whatever that means) intelligent ; and yes, brussel sprouts are alive and presumably would prefer to stay that way - even those of us who are not vegans are familiar with that simple fact of life; have been for quite a while, as a matter of fact.

But, fair enough, what does it mean to us?

It means that we have to acknowledge - once again - that the the limits separating the "I" and the "Other" are all but fictitious; and that the "Other" includes plants.
But that much many of us - albeit not nearly enough of us - know already.

It also means we have to acknowledge - yet again -that we do not really know how the alchemy of nature works.
And there is also the fact that individual plants - unlike individual animals - are not necessarily destroyed by the act of cutting or digging out a part of them.

Oh, a cop out!, I hear you say.
No, not exactly. Ignorance is not bliss, certainly not in this case; certainly not for those who are aware enough to even ponder on these things.
In this case, ignorance is painful.
(Which should at least appease, if not make happy, all those who see pain, either emotional or physical or both, as apparently the only way to redeem oneself.)

But there is another question, conveniently (albeit not very smartly or elegantly) left unaddressed: why should it mean something for vegans and vegetarians, specifically? How about all the other people? Mankind in general?

There are always choices to be made; and they always affect someone or something else.
And they should be made with the full awareness that that someone or something is no less entitled to Life as you, as I, making those choices uncomfortable.

Whatever it means to you, you'll the one who'll have to come to grips with it.
But you should know about this, if you didn't already, and that is why I am posting this.

P.S. It also makes the efforts of this blogging colleague of ours all the more intriguing, doesn't it? ;)

I am a ficus, hear me roar

The best clairvoyant of them all?

2010-06-08T04:51:00.014+02:00

I believe - I know - the "future" (whatever it is) can be sensed, seen, heard... predicted.
I know it because I have experienced precognition myself and have seen it happen to other members of my family and to some friends.

What does that tell us about time...?
Exactly.
But this blog doesn't deal with that.
(Here's one - one of ours - that does.)

Which is why I find it odd that so few renowned "clairvoyants" appear to be convincing.
In fact, quite a few of the most (in)famous "seers" - or "psychics", as the Americans call them - seem to be little more than frauds. Very, very wealthy frauds, I suspect.

And then, there are the myriad incognito seers scattered around the world, that the world knows little about.
But not all of them dwell in caves or remote villages, divorced from the "civilised" world.
What follows (through the link) is an account about a very cosmopolitan clairvoyant who apparently predicted Nixon's resignation years in advance and helped find abducted heiress Patty Hearst in a matter of hours.

I literally stumbled upon it during a search for a subject that had nothing whatsoever to do with clairvoyants. But the few lines I read diagonally while scrolling down to what I thought would be a tidbit of interest inevitably arrested my attention.

I don't know if this is legit - it could be some sort of joke, for all I know - but I can guarantee you a few minutes of very entertaining and intriguing reading.

See for yourself.

Nik Raka AKA Nik the Quick

(EDIT: The original article has been taken down.

The link now points to the archived copy.)

If this is true, I must say it's rather impressive.
Beyond impressive, actually.

If you ever talk to him, let me know how it went.
I am not sure I even believe in the subdivision of time called the "future"; but I am too afraid to inquire about it all the same.

"Always on" - another Google turn-off

2010-05-07T03:39:00.022+02:00

I hate to break the "lyrical" mood apparently introduced by the previous post (and thank you, Natalya, for yor kind words!), but I just have to vent my latest grievance agaist Google.

A few minutes ago, literally in the middle of the night, I noticed that the Google results display was somehow different to what I was used to. There was a side bar on the left side of the screen, that I've never seen before.

There wasn't much to it, even though the first line said, cryptically, "everything" and just underneath it, "more".
(Yes: first "everything", and then you get even "more" than everything... I wonder, do the Google people - maybe we should call them "goople" - ever realise the unintended ironies of their logically challenged onscreen lingo?)

The rest were the usual options, the ones you are used to seeing just below the search box, plus "more search options".

At first I thought I had inadvertently clicked on a wrong button, so I tried to click it back to the standard view.
It didn't work.
So I turned to - who else? - Google and searched for the origins of this silent novelty and, more to the point, for ways to make it disappear.

I found all of it here.

According to this article, "Google is quietly conducting an experiment where the search options side-bar is automatically opened every time search results is shown. In current Google search results interface, which in fact has already been enhanced with the search options, the sidebar opens the left only when clicked."

Yes, well, I don't like "quiet experiments", especially not at the expense of my wits and time (= the time I have to spend searching for disabling techniques instead of doing things I enjoy.)

And, rather typically, "unfortunately, Google does not provide a single switch or option that can turn off and disable the always-on sidebar layout on its search results page".

But they are using cookies to determine whether you'll keep it or switch it off.
(Guess what my cookies told them?)
So, if you want to get rid of it permanently, you have to delete the cookies related to Google.

FIREFOX users:

Go to Tools -> Options -> Privacy tab. Click on remove individual cookies link. Expand the Google domain which display the new “always-on” sidebar (such as google.com), highlight the cookie named PREF and click on Remove Cookie button to delete the cookie.

OR go to Tools -> Clear Recent History. Choose Everything, and then Cookies, then press Clear Now button.

INTERNET EXPLORER users:

First, go download Flock or Firefox or Opera or even Chrome and set it to be your default browser - then we can talk... :)

I like novelties. I cherish and welcome (and even suggest) them - provided they are useful or at least amusing.
This one is neither.

And to me, the addition of "more search options" - all of which are really just dumbed down search practices that any user with some experience and/or logical abilities would be performing by themselves - confirms my suspicions that Google is not only accepting the global "dumbing down" of internet audiences but is also actively encouraging it.
I am not a conspiracy fun; there is no sinister design behind it (pun originally unitended) - unless you consider Google's harnessing the power of the growing functional illiteracy to generate ever more money for them sinister.

I do.

UPDATE:

I am sorry to report that the solutions presented above do NOT work in any of the browsers we use. After every restart, the cookies are reinstalled as soon as you hit the WWW. So much for "silent" experiment...

I'll continue to search for a solution.
And if you have one, do let us know.

ANOTHER UPDATE:

Apparently, the "Always on" is now to be - always on. Permanent.
If you dislike it, there is a petition you can sign and share.

And you can do what we've done: go off Google.
There are other options.

This is one:

FREE RICE

And this is another one (unlimited):

GOOD SEARCH

And of course, there is the (ever increasingly attractive-looking) Bing:

The BING

I know this much: shrugging is NOT an option for us here.

The Little Green Stick

2010-05-05T19:03:00.019+02:00

When I was little I uttered things - sometimes impossibly, blindingly wise things - that still astound me today, because I can remember them; and I can remember the source from which they came. That is why they they astound me.

Their source was not the fun, warm tickle of unbridled fantasy. I remember that one; I was aware of it even as I indulged in it.

That was not it.

And much later, not little anymore but still very young (as I am and I am likely to remain, as long as I am I), I was enraptured by a quote that I thought I had read somewhere: that Rumi, the Persian poet, once said about music, that "it contains a secret that would transform the world if found out".

As it often happens, I could not find that quote again; and I did search for it far and wide.

But I am used to that.
I did not invent that quote. What happened was that I read something - definitely by Rumi, or quoting him - that contained that same thought, more or less, and my ever thirsty and alert inner sentry that looks out for the hidden ancient routes to the mystery of the World, grabbed that nugget, the essential thought, and ran with it, transforming it into something my soul could sing to.

And why not?

That's how fairy tales and legends are born, too.

They may not correspond exactly with the perceived outer appearance of things, but they are the truth - a truth - nonetheless.

I am faithful to my ancient "fancies". I know the place where they originated really is the place I am yearning for (we all are). And themselves they are still the most reliable compasses to that ancient land of Life ever young.

For the same reason I revere the loyalty to their infant wisdom of the heart in other people.

And yet, I was somehow surprised when I found out that Leo Tolstoy, one of my top four favourite writers and the author of my favourite novel, was faithful to the silent, wide-eyed wisdom of his own young heart.

The grumpy old man really was young at heart and remained so until the day he died.

He was younger than he thought. His last voyage - his last desperate effort to overcome what he thought was the coming darkness - shows that: that he was younger than he thought.

That is why he had to struggle.

And the place where he chose his bodily remains to be buried shows Tolstoy's poignant faith in that his old age was no wiser than his early youth.

If there is such a thing as a "perfect" burial place, this is it.

The Little Green Stick

Go see it.

Or go read Tolstoy's writings.

There is nothing that you have thought or felt that won't find some resonance in his words.

Tolstoy makes you feel human.

And he makes you feel that being human is actually a good and noble thing.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE THIS:

Greeting to the Unknown Human (and Non-Human, Too)

Underrated websites, I

2010-05-04T22:06:00.012+02:00

Have you ever felt the need to send a beautiful photo or picture in the guise of a custom-made ecard?

If so, you probably found, sooner or later, that there are very few sites that offer a simple customisation procedure and non-cheesy editing - AND actually deliver (pun intended)?

We discovered this site a few months ago - and we thought (still do) that it's absolutely superb.

ECARDSTER

The editing is extremely simple, it offers a good selection of styles, the end result looks quite elegant and striking, not cheesy at all (although that would depend on the picture, I imagine) - and the notification is delivered immediately.
(When I say "immediately", I mean quicker than it takes one to close the browser tab and return to the inbox.)

Also, we haven't noticed any spyware or malware or any problems after visiting it, both as senders and as recipients.

Furthermore, you can add your images to the (so far rather modest) gallery if you wish.
(To do so, tick the appropriate box. And by the way, do NOT tick it if the image you're using isn't yours to give!)

Needless to say, the use of the website is absolutely free of charge.
Also, you don't need tor register to use it.

And yet, apparently, only about 11 ecards a day are sent from this site (as per their stats).
Why?
Who knows.
Perhaps the marketing is faulty.

But as long as it stays as it is, we will be glad to use it.

N.B. None of the team members of this blog, or any of its associate blogs, is in any way associated with either the website or its owners. We simply like it and think other people should know about it.

A sample ecard from Ecardster

P.S. The "I" in the title doesn't refer to yours truly (even in a modestly phrased plural) but rather to the fact that collectively we have encountered quite a few websites that should be more visited than they are, so wel'll probably be adding to this category.

The stars of April 23, 1616

2010-04-23T09:01:00.031+02:00

If you like literature or history, you may know it already.

On Saturday, April 23, 1616, this world lost William Shakespeare and Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra.

They died on the same day, at the exact same spot in time.
Both of them.
Some even say they both died at dawn.
(And Shakespeare is believed to have died on his birthday, to boot.)

Or so the story goes.

What are the odds?
Do odds even matter? Are statistics perhaps a fallacy, just like so many seeming orders?

Retrospective gauging of people's achievements and "importance" could be another one.
It seems easy to pick out great names retrospectively, forgetting all others.

But the consensus about the literary greatness of Shakespeare and Cervantes, Cervantes and Shakespeare, is, and has been for centuries, solid enough as to legitimate this entry, at the very least.

However, it seems (the text is in Spanish) that Shakespeare may not have died on April 23rd at all, but rather on May 4th of that year.

Who cares.
"Icons" and "iconic" situations (AKA fairy tales and legends) transcend time and space, re-weaving reality into a different order.
That's their function. That's why we love them and need them.
They bespeak a greater truth: that life is interconnected, whether we choose to see it or not.
And that it is an enduring mystery.
And that is the truth.

As to Cervantes and Shakespeare, as I wrote once before, on a different website:
Be it as it may, my (non-existent) hat off to both of them.

And also to those who still read them today, in the belief that beauty and truth - or their expressions - have no expiration date.

A little beauty goes a long way...

2010-03-03T16:27:00.011+01:00

Daffodils that come before the swallow dares
and take the winds of March with beauty...

William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, scene IV (The Shepherd's Cottage)

To be seen here.

I also like this blog entry (and the photo):

March is Autumn, March is Spring

No wonder the Latin name of the daffodil is - Narcissus poeticus... :)

The Answer

2010-02-23T14:24:00.018+01:00

So, what is your answer to the question?

There's more than one, we discovered. (But then, we knew that all along.) Each one of us had a different answer.

Because the realisation that your life is your responsibility is simply too much of a burden?

(This is not intended as a reproach. Heck, life is complicated as it is, without having to bear the brunt of retrospective guilt for not having been a better "creator" when nobody taught you that you could be a creator in the first place!)

Or is it the vast ocean of apparent pointlessness that appears out of such an unfathomable possibility?

(Think about it: if we can experience anything we want... what is the point of all this?)

It's probably both: the concept of bearing responsibility for one's experience of life is a burden because of the apparent pointlessness of it all.

Here is where a transcendent - religious, if you will - mindset comes in handy and reveals its possible ultimate purpose; and positivist materialism, its limitations.

If you can conceive the idea that your experience, whatever you choose it to be, from the moment of Awareness on, is the experience of God - through one of Its facets (just one but no less important than any of the others, being, as it is, the Whole and a Part, all at the same time) - and if you are aware that being the Whole and yet still a Part (the part revealed to yourself for the time being) there might be a final, all-revealing answer to it all - then you'll probably see that your experience of life, even if you don't understand it or its purpose, if any, isn't irrelevant and unimportant, isn't pointless.

What's tragic - but perhaps also an inevitable part of the journey - is that so many people who'll read this will protest against this apparent denial of "God's master plan", without realising that they themselves are, inevitably, the planners and executors of that "master plan".

Oh, I believe there might be a "higher" predetermined set of circumstances into which you are born and over which you exert little or no control - until the advent of the moment of Awareness: that is, until the moment when you become aware that you have the power to transfigure the mirror of Reality.

"Divine imagining and human imagining are not two powers at all, rather one," said Neville Goddard (among countless others).

Think about it.

We will, too.

(And there will be inevitable edits to this writ, as there always are.)

Meanwhile, there's something closely related to this post you might want to read:

The Substance of Things Hoped For

When you're done, you might also want to read this.

Oh, and one more thing: if you're serious about trying to live like this, then predictive astrology (i.e. forecasts) - and anything that presupposes predetermined forces stronger than you - should be out of your life.

That's probably why all major religions forbid astrology. It makes sense; you really can't have it both ways. You cannot be the master and the puppet at the same time.

Looking for love online? Don't smile!

2010-02-18T13:26:00.017+01:00

If you're a man, that is.
And don't look into the camera.

For women, the advice is: don't post pictures of yourself showcasing your physical "assets" (or the lack thereof, I'd imagine). Instead post photos that show you engaging in some "fun" activity, such as "vacationing in Brazil or strumming a guitar".

I don't like to smile at a camera; I don't like looking into a camera - in fact, I don't even like being anywhere near a camera... I also don't strum guitars; I don't even like guitars, unless they are in the hands of the likes of Paco de Lucia and such. And while on vacation, I do not take photos of myself (or any photos at all, for that matter).

Then again, I am not looking for "love" or romance, either online or offline, so - who cares?
But if you are, you might profit from this recent article from the New York Times:

Looking for a date?

Oh, and don't use terms like "beautiful" or "cutie" (duh - I could have told you that one!). Use "cool" (ugh) or "fascinating" instead.

It's not psychology, say the authors of the website who came up with these findings. It's math.
(You see, it is useful in daily life, after all!)

The Emperor's new clothes are the latest fashion

2010-02-12T19:11:00.030+01:00

We've been thinking a lot about our few but faithful followers these days. We think people deserve more than just occasional rants.

So, on a whim I've decided to share with you some of my more intimate work. My fiction is rather long, but I thought perhaps an excerpt from a poem of mine, a musing about the meaning of life itself, might compensate you - however modestly - for your kind attention and time.

Here it goes.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, it is a consummation
Devoutly to be wished.

(It's just a short excerpt, the poem is actually quite long. My editor wants me to shorten and "streamline" it, as she calls it, but it's my integrity what's on the line, so I'd rather leave it as it is.

We also haven't decided on the title yet. I want something timelessly evocative, she wants something "Gothic-sexy", as she calls it, like The Master of Elsinore Castle.
I'll let you know when we have decided.)

You may have noticed the language is a whiff archaic.
Your observation is quite correct: I wanted to convey the time-transcending nature of such questions.

To those among you particularly sensitive to aesthetics it may even sound vaguely familiar.
Well. that's how good I am (even if I say so myself). What I wanted to achieve is the effect of a post-postmodern pastiche, if you will, using historic formulae to accentuate the timelessness of the main theme.
Was I successful?
You be the judge.

What has gotten into me, you ask...?
Inspiration, my friend.
And being the intellectually honest creator that I am, I don't mind sharing its source with you.
It was an email discussing originality and the current state of literacy, sent by a forget-me-not we haven't seen in quite a while now (so her blog in this blogofleet is temporarily even off-view).

The email included a link to a complaint board of a site called Triond, where apparently people can publish their texts (of all sorts) in exchange for pennies. (And glory, of course, but that's a given.)
Here is the link:

Edgar Allen [sic] Poe plagiarized due to lazyness [sic]

I would recommend reading it (it's very short), but here's the gist: a member published Poe's poem The Raven as if it were his own. Not one comma was altered.

Since the author - not Poe, the other one - apparently wasn't given the chance to speak for himself, I can only speculate about his reasons.
Perhaps - and I really mean this - he intended it as a "statement" of some kind.
(After all, Poe himself was accused of plagiarising another author, precisely with this poem - and Poe in his turn accused Longfellow of plagiarising him. For more on Poe - and plagiarism - see Why Is Plagiarism Bad?)

Or maybe it was an experiment - to see how long it would take people to notice.

Or maybe he acted out the ideal of J. L. Borges' dreamed-of writer and simply rewrote not Don Quijote but Poe's poem on his own, out of his own fresh intent and inspiration. (You really should read Borges - he expressed it much better than I.)

Or perhaps he belongs to the "different generation, one that freely mixes and matches from the whirring flood of information across new and old media, to create something new"...
That is how another plagiator, a financially and critically very successful one, recently explained her unacknowledged borrowing from a less lucky writer.

I have a few questions regarding this latter case. Like, her "generation" being different... different from what?
From the "generations" who knew how to read and write?

“There’s no such thing as originality anyway, just authenticity,” said she, when questioned about her perceived lack of originality.

Well said.
(And probably plundered from someone else, too.)

I am all for authenticity.
But shouldn't authentically re-writing someone else's authenticity involve at least an original - sorry, authentic - nod to the source?
The first authentic author could be made into a character in the work of the second authentic writer; or a character in the latter's work could quote her/him. Or something else. There are many ways of incorporating the sources of one's authenticity into a work. Surely a writer should have no problems with finding an adequate one?

I know, I know: I am missing the point - the point being that authenticity needs no nitpicking listing of sources... right?
In principle, I agree; but if you don't mind, I'll wait for the proponents of authenticity to waive their copyrights and their royalties, being as they are incompatible with such a democratically promiscuous view of verbal intercourse.

As I said, I don't know what Poe II would have to say for himself, he was never given the chance. But based on what the Berlinese author above had to say in her defence, I believe the actions of these mavericks of authenticity really do speak louder than the words they took out of someone else's mouth: they speak of a world where it took weeks for a reader or two among the hundreds who visit a website to recognise one of Poe's most famous poems - and none of those who noticed it were the editors of the publishing site.

And there is authenticity in the actions of these scribes (it is not an insult but rather an accurate description of their activity, from a time when there was a perception that writing down is not automatically the same as writing): they reveal a multitude of facets borrowed to act in place of a personal face. They reveal the horizon, the inexistent far shores, of a world where everything has been deconstructed to death, including personal responsibility and a sense of value - the value of the past, of actions past, of lives past, of the common experience accumulated through millenia.
Everything has been gleefully relativised in this "People's Century" of ours - and now the Gutenberg Galaxy itself is fast fading into the darkness whence it came.

Then again, there is a silver (thirty pieces worth of it) lining to this abysmal darkness: this way we get to read - and write - everything all over again. It may not be long before we even get - oh joy! - to make fire from scratch.

That's the glory of an age when TXTing is the lingua franca: you get to discover all sorts of untold beauties as if it were for the first time.

Much like with Alzheimer's, I am told.

Buzz Off, Google!

2010-02-10T21:52:00.024+01:00

OR

the Terror of Social Networking

A few days ago I read a headline that made my heart jump, if only for a second (I've become quite cynical since Google has become a part of my life):

Google to Make Gmail More Social

For a brief second I thought - hoped against hope - that Gmail was to FINALLY make itself more presentable. Because I am social enough: I know how to communicate, both online and offline, with people I want to socialise with; I still know how to read and write, so I don't need Google to do it for me (as I am sure - mark my words! - that will be their next development).

What I want is to be able to reply to messages without having to drag the (literally) entire history of the conversation in tow; what I want is to make my friends partake in some of the beauties I find online without having to send every blasted picture as an attachment.
I also like nice backgrounds, nice fonts, etc. - you know, superfluous bourgeois aesthetics like that.
(And yes, you can do that with other email clients.
But we are talking about Google and Gmail here - and Gmail is actually one of the most freequently used email applications nowadays.)

As I said, I only entertained such hopes for a fraction of a second - the time it takes my idealistic faith in people and progress to die these days.

As it turned out, the "more social" feature was yet another useless gadget, intended to promote - or rather, cash on - "social networking" (an epidemic condition that is afflicting all too many websites, includes some that I would never have thought capable of stooping that low).

And today, as I logged in, I was greeted by a screen prodding me to "check out" the Buzz.
I didn't and won't.
But here's what it is supposed to achieve:

"Everything in one place Follow your friends and get recommended buzz from others — all within Google Mail."

What does "everything in one place" mean?
Are they actually implying people's social lives (or just life in general) have gotten so small and two-dimensional they can be kept tidy and controlled via a gadget?
(I believe they are implying that.)

And what the heck does "follow" mean, in the first place?
I already know what my friends are up to - as much as they want me to know about their activities. The same goes for their "following" me.

And I get all the "buzz" I need from people I actually care about, both online and offline. Why should I care about the "buzz"(whatever that means) of people I don't even know?

According to a very recent poll, most people are more or less"okay" with Buzz.
Around 17% "love" it.
Around 7% "hate" it.
(The results are changing all the time, so be sure to check the current results.)

If you are one of those who hate it, here's what you can do about it:

Turn off Buzz or remove Buzz updates from your mailbox

(Hint: just look at the very bottom of your Gmail page.)

That should help you to ignore it - which is always the best policy, especially when money (in return for your attention) is involved.

I bet you're left with the feeling that I actually hate Google.
I don't; it doesn't mean enough for me to hate it.

I despise it, and that's not a word I use lightly.
I despise it because it has stooped down to the lowest common denominator - in exchange for money, naturally - and is now even contributing, very actively and quite consciously, to the dumbing down of the world. (See also Google's Goggles ogling at you.)

But of course, the Buzz and Gmail's idiotic attempts to get "more social" are only the top of the iceberg.
More on that in the near future.

P.S. And don't forget to check for occasional edits.
If you know me... you know me. ;)

The unbearable lightness of believing

2010-01-29T22:23:00.027+01:00

Judging by the amount of visits (and a few emails) the previous post created a minor stir.

Good.
That was its purpose.

Still, I feel it's worth elaborating on just little bit further.

If a visitor from another planet (let's say many regions in Africa where there is no internet, not to mention some other essential commodities) took a virtual stroll around the WWW (or any library), one of the first things s/he would notice would probably be the overabundance of links, websites, articles, books containing the following tags/keywords: LOA, law of attraction, manifesting, reality creation... and so on.

Assuming s/he knew what they mean, s/he could be forgiven for thinking either that we are a race of turbo manifesters... or that we aren't. Especially that we aren't. People usually look for what they DON'T have.

Everyone seems to KNOW the principle underlying the recent deluge of The Secret-emulators (The Secret, naturally, being nothing but an emulation- and not really a very accomplished one - itself).
And yet presses are spewing out ever new batches of books hammering the same idea under many different names even as we speak.

Why?

Well, the answer is rather obvious, but to illustrate it let me quote a real post, typical of the mentality underlying this abundance of books on abundance:

"I was looking for a book akin to [insert name of any "manifestation" guru, past or present] when I came across [as above]."

Why?

If this person was looking for a book akin to a certain other book, then it's safe to assume s/he liked that first book.
Why, then, did s/he need yet another book telling her basically the same things as the first one?

Either because s/he was not convinced - or because it didn't "work".

Why, then, look for more of the same?

Because this reader - and millions like him or her - is missing the one key (the ignition key!) that makes it all work and without which none of it can work.

FAITH

If you read carefully - or even diagonally, I suppose - through all the books, articles and websites about "reality creation", you may notice that they all talk about the same thing, offering only variants, ever different approaches to CONVINCE yourself about the efficacity of having faith.
In other words, they are offering you methods to build faith in that having faith really works.

And none of them seem to work (except for a silent minority, I suppose).

If people really believed in their own power to co-create reality, no such books would have been needed for the past 2000 years - the approximate time that has elapsed since the following words - among many others - were written for everyone to hear:

"Nothing is impossible to him who believes"

Is there a clearer, more explicit declaration of man's power - and right - to co-create reality, to achieve even the seemingly "impossible"?

No.
It's the essential idea that all "manifestation" books harp on, minus the tacky media marketing, the airy-fairy writing and the price tag.

But then, even Peter - the exemplary everyman (surely you don't think he was chosen as the first "pope" because he was such an outstandingly bright disciple, do you...?) - even Peter himself could not believe. He SAW Christ do mind-boggling miracles, he HEARD him (Him, not some priest) tell him again and again that he, Peter, could do anything Christ could - and more!
Heck, he even mustered enough faith to walk on water... until he remembered he "could not" do it and started to sink.

"You of little faith," said Christ, "why did you doubt?"

Indeed: why?*
Why did Peter doubt his ability to walk on water even after seeing that clearly he COULD do it?

Why do you?

Think about it until you get a clear answer as to whether you can believe - or not. Because if you don't, you might as well give the money (and time) you invest in "manifestation" books, CDs, DVDs and what-not, to charity. Or flush it down the drain, whichever you prefer.

On the bright side, you can start walking on water right NOW.
All you need to do is have faith in faith. Not rational, mental understanding or even "conviction" - no, I mean FAITH.

With it, nothing is impossible.
Without it, no technique will help you. Ever.

* Answer coming up soon.
As soon as you have thought about it yourself.

.-- .... .- - / -.-- --- ..- / ... . . / .. ... / .-- .... .- - / -.-- --- ..- / --. . -

2010-01-29T17:16:00.014+01:00

(Image taken from here.)

... and NOW?

- --- / - .-. .- -. ... .-.. .- - . / - .... . / - .. - .-.. . --..-- / -.-. --- .--. -.-- / .. - / .- -. -.. / .--. .- ... - . / .. - / .... . .-. . .-.-.-

Today, every day, forever

2010-01-28T22:38:00.020+01:00

... until the end of Times:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

to the most glorious person in the world.

(Wherever you are, you know who you are.
Even though you were never quite aware
of your own glory and worth to others,
you should know who you are.

If you don't, we have failed you.)

Going green: Grow your own furniture

2010-01-24T17:09:00.016+01:00

I once heard a story about one of my ancestors who loved birds so much that he had living trees transplanted - in huge pots and barrels - into a special room, or salon, so that his many domesticated (at least I hope so!) winged pets could fly around freely, as in a forest.
(I am assuming they did everything else, too, "as in a forest", but let's not go there now. I wonder what the cleaner team's descendants are blogging about...)

Anyway, I was delighted when I heard this story, because as a child - being "young and heartless" - I had often thought of somehow doing the same thing. Not because of love of birds (I do love them dearly), but out of love for trees.
I am mad about trees. I love them and respect them and adore them in all but the "heathen" ways. If you ever want to impress me with flower shop gifts, don't bring me cut roses or even potted floral beauties - bring me a small tree in a pot!

And so, I am naturally attracted to everything and anything that has to do with trees as an active part of one's living environment.

Which is all the more reason why I was so surprised to find out that arborsculpture - sculptural shaping of trees - can be used to create furniture, gazebos, you-name-it (even jewelry!).

I mean, it is a thought that surely has crossed the mind of anyone who has ever sat comfortably on all sorts of natural improvised "seats", from tree roots to logs. But to find out that people actually do grow trees with a proper seating or habitational function in mind was somewhat startling.

Read about it here.

To see a number of fascinating traditional examples (mostly bridges) go here:

Living growing architecture

Here is a blog you can follow, with lots of good advice and fabulous examples of tree "architecture" worldwide.

And finally, here is a book you can buy:

I admit, I prefer sleek but comfortable modern furniture to any Louis.
But this is just enchanting.

And it is as "green" as it goes.

What the BLIP...?!

2010-01-21T21:49:00.015+01:00

Don't get me wrong: I find excessive obsession with so called "privacy" ridiculous and only helpful as a possible aid to help you unmask your own deepest fears.

(Like, what EXACTLY do you fear would happen if somebody finds out certain of your personal facts or indulgences?
No, really: think about it! It would only matter if the "government" or whoever your pet foe is could actually do something that would impact your life negatively - i.e. something that would not be merely the consequence of your perception of your hypothetical Self in the hypothetical eyes of the Others.
If they could do it, then that usurped power is something you - and the Others - definitely should fight. If they couldn't - if it's all simply a matter of your comfortable perception of your Self as a public person - then the problem lies in you.)

Even more ridiculous is the apparent facility which many people disclose their sex life (real or fictitious) with - but God forbid they should be asked how much they earn! (At least it shows you what really matters to them...)

But who the blip would be as stupid as to broadcast what they are buying, and when, and how much it cost?

My guess is... many.
Wanna bet?

Tell the whole world what you're buying... and in real time, too!

The author of the article hyperlinked above "caught up with Kaplan" (the father of this Frankenstein's bride) "to talk about how Blippy could become a new form of advertising and why no purchase -- even revealing ones -- should be embarrassing to share."

And here's the purpose of the thingy, in a nutshell:

What's the point of Blippy?
Kaplan: Without getting too philosophical, I'll just start at the beginning. The big answer is: We don't know, which I think is funny but is also indicative of what we're trying to do.

Well, I agree: that wasn't too philosophical.
(Not even a little bit, for that matter.)

But the nasty thing about philosophy is that it tends to reveal itself, whether you intend it or not.

"Fun" is the name of the game.

It is true, however, that once you have lost everything (private)... you have nothing left to fear.
Or to lose.

Exhibitionism is the new spirituality.

The Forgotten Language of Creation

2010-01-20T20:53:00.008+01:00

I found this website while rummaging through my bookmarks reviewed it... and just had to share it. It's about numbers and their role - possibly much more than just metaphorical - in Creation.

I hope you enjoy it as much I have.

The Forgotten Language of Creation

(BTW, it's based on the Qabbalah.
Do not be afraid of it: there is no mention of Madonna - not that there is anything wrong with her - or any "recruitment" material, although it is a part of a commercial site offering certain services.)