Wednesday, November 12, 2008

An Infinite Number of Monkeys vs. A Finite Number Of Brain Cells

The limits of materialism are evident, at least to me. For example, in the materialist view, there must be a maximum amount of memories one can have, else where are they stored? (This has been calculated at various times, with current models now approaching near infinity for practical purposes.) Then there's the issue of causality. (You can't logically have causality and responsibility if everything is the result of physical laws that dictate behavior.)

And then there's this crap. According to this, the human being can't really care about more than 150 people at a time. (This is an interesting parallel to Aristotle's famous essay on how many friends one can have, I'll grant.) The brain, it is argued, can't handle it. (O! thou organ of limitless and limited power!) He calls this limit the monkeysphere.

It's fun the play spot the assumptions:

People toss half-full bottles of drain cleaner right into the barrel, without a second thought of what would happen if the trash man got it splattered into his eyes. Why? Because the trash guy exists outside the Monkeysphere.

Sure, some people don't think about service guys. But the fact that trash men aren't running around blinded tells you something as well. For example, it might tell you that people sort of figure that the trash guy knows what he's doing and takes reasonable precautions, and that they're right.

The simple fact is it's impossible to act if you weight every person equally in your life. Not only would that not be a commendable thing, it would be downright stupid. Your attention should be on the people who most directly affect your life, like the jerk who pulls out into traffic in front of you without signally, or whose lives you can affect, like the Ethernopian kid you send money to every month.

This next bit is spectacularly off:

Remember the first time, as a kid, you met one of your school teachers outside the classroom? Maybe you saw old Miss Puckerson at Taco Bell eating refried beans through a straw, or saw your principal walking out of a dildo shop. Do you remember that surreal feeling you had when you saw these people actually had lives outside the classroom?

I mean, they're not people. They're teachers.

Of course I've had that experience. But not because I didn't think of my teachers as people--and certainly not because they were outside my alleged monkeysphere. It was because teachers used to have a distance--a kind of altitude--that allowed them to maintain order and teach. It's not that they weren't people. It's that they weren't children.

I adored my grade school and earlier teachers. I had to get to Junior High school before I started getting teachers I didn't like (with a big caveat for my nursery school teachers who scared the bejeezus out of me).

But Mr. Wong has a theory, and he's going to fit all kinds of experiences into that theory whether they belong or not. I can't relate, for example, to this:

That's why you get that weird feeling of anonymous invincibility when you're sitting in a large crowd, screaming curses at a football player you'd never dare say to his face.

I'm not big on attending sporting events but I don't scream curses at the athletes. I root for the winning team and sometimes boo the opposing team because that's what you do. I don't have any real animosity for the opposing side at all. (Sure, some people get into it to that degree, but how many take it personally? Probably about the same percentage of crazies, or maybe slightly fewer, than make the political personal.)
Sure, you probably don't go out of your way to be mean to strangers. You don't go out of your way to be mean to stray dogs, either.
But you're the one making the equivalency, not me.
The problem is that eventually, the needs of you or those within your Monkeysphere will require screwing someone outside it (even if that need is just venting some tension and anger via exaggerated insults).
This just plain isn't true: Except for a statistically insignificant portion, civilization was built by those I've never met and am only vaguely aware of at best. I will be one of those anonymous many for the future. Survival is the exact opposite of a zero-sum game.

This paragraph essentially refutes the entire premise of the essay. Yes, life is in competition with other life. That, much like the sports event, is the game. But the vast majority of the people outside your circle are what make your existence possible, and a great deal of what you do, provided you are not a leech, is what makes others' existences possible.

And, what the hell? Since when is "venting anger via exaggerated insults" screwing someone? How big a pussy do you have to be to believe that?
This is why most of us wouldn't dream of stealing money from the pocket of the old lady next door, but don't mind stealing cable, adding a shady exemption on our tax return, or quietly celebrating when they forget to charge us for something at the restaurant.
Am I a Martian? I've only ever sent checks back for being in my favor. (I also used to tell my teachers when they missed marking me down in school.) And what's with the broad equivalencies?

It just gets worse from there. Check out this gem:
Talk radio's Rush Limbaugh is known to tip 50% at restaurants, but flies into a broadcast tirade if even half that dollar amount is deducted from his paycheck by "The Government." That's despite the fact that the money helps that very same single mom he had no problem tipping in her capacity as a waitress.
See what happens when you reduce everything to the material? A man wanting to decide the fate of his own money is being irrational if he objects to the government taking it from him to perform approximately the same task (at a greatly reduced efficiency, and of course less actual personal freedom).

There's no sense of right or wrong anywhere in this essay. Everyone just gets away with what they can, and they do so because of their brain. But this guy has the answer: Everything is more complicated than it seems, and we're all just primates flinging feces at each other.

There's also no good or evil. You and I are just Osama Bin Laden without the crazy-ass followers. His belief that we're oppressing him is just as valid as our belief that he killed 3,000+ of our citizens.

I tend to think that civilization depends on billions of us acting within a fairly narrow set of parameters suggests that the whole 150 limit is absurd on the face of it. If we were really and truly limited, civilization as we know it never would have emerged. Having SUVs and TVs didn't create the need for civilization, civilization created the possibility of having SUVs and TVs. But that's the typical reversal of a materialist.

I read this years ago and it disgusted me enough that I ignored it, but Ace just linked to another piece by this guy on how the Internet is going to be regulated so that there's no more anonymity, because anonymity empowers trolls and trolls hurt business.

Meh. Possibly. But so far the 'net has resisted a lot of obvious regulation, and things don't have to always get worse.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

RocknRollan on the River

The thing about these English gangster flicks is that it takes a while for the ol' ears to adjust to the myriad accents and quaint sayings and slang and whatnot, and by the time you've adjusted, you don't know who anyone is and have no idea what's going on.

OK, it's not that bad, but I remember getting halfway through Billy Elliot--which had been given an "R" rating for swearing--wondering where all the swearing was before I realized that "fook" and "shite" are naughty.

And so we come to Guy Ritchie's latest production, his divorce from Madonna.

No, wait, it's RocknRolla, the tale of a couple of British "real estate developers" whose deal has gone sour because their partner in crime has prevented the necessary zoning from being passed so that he can get the land from them and squeeze them for his "losses" which ultimately forces them to look for other sources of money which actually ends up causing trouble for the guy who swindled them because of his hot 'n' wild accountant all while searching out the rat who's been turning them in for years.

Phew.

Oh, yeah, and the big guy's son is the titular RocknRolla, a local drug-abusing musician who has a habit of being reported dead. He steals a painting which doesn't quite act as a MacGuffin, but which provides a fun thread throughout the film.

Surprisingly, this movie is a little slow, at least at first. It picks up momentum as it goes and finishes strong, with lots of good moments.

The cast is very good, with Gerard Butler as One-Two and Idris Elba as Mumbles and a bunch of other Brits with equally colorful character names. The music is what you'd expect. And there's a nice combination of whimsy with really, truly abhorrent gang style violence. Sassy!

We liked it. I'm not a big gangster movie guy, but this was fun.

I noticed something interesting: These guys weren't really gangsters in the traditional sense of running drugs and booze or hookers or contraband: The big boss's power came entirely from government. Zoning laws and building codes, in fact. The money came from the change in value of a property based on zoning changes.

[insert "small government rant" here]

But I wonder if that's not something that's just considered normal in the highly regulated world of London.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Reasons to pirate software.

My buddy's a big gamer. Mostly sports stuff, which I don't do, but also Command and Conquer. (Check out the link. It's David Hasselhoff!)

A couple of years ago, he tried to get me and another pal into C&C: Generals. (I almost always buy games long after they come out. I don't have time to play them so, you know, why spend a lot of money on them. "But, Blake!" you say, "Why buy them at all if you don't have time to play them?" To which I remind you, "Shut up.")

"Generals", like so many games today, has so much copy protection, it's absurd. First, of course, it copies its entire contents to your hard drive. It still requires you to keep the CD in the drive, naturally. Also, you've got to enter a serial number and product key. Even if you're just playing over your home network, "Generals" will helpfully check those serial numbers so that you can't (say) play with your kid without buying another copy. Some games add to that, require Internet activation. "Generals" didn't, and I'm not sure if "Red Alert 3" does, but (for example) Spore does: A bunch of people devoted themselves to trashing it on Amazon because of that. (I have mixed feelings about that tactic.)

Meanwhile you can download a cracked version of anything that requires no CD and no Internet activation.

Even when these things work, they're supremely annoying. Your cash outlay is rendered worthless if you misplace the game manual or jewel case or in some cases a little slip of paper. Or if you can't connect to the Internet.

The requirement to keep the CD in the drive results in: a) not being able to play the game when you want, since you have to dig up the CD; b) the CD being damaged.

In the case of Red Alert 3, though, we have a situation where the last number of the product key didn't get printed. The registration helpfully aborts after three tries, so I had to initiate the install procedure five times before I discovered "M" was the magic missing letter.

Also: $60.

I'm opposed to piracy. I think people should be able to get paid for their work and set the price they want to receive for said work.

But the pirates deliver a better product.

Manic Monday Apocalypso: The Monsters Are Due

Can a story be apocalyptic when it's not really apocalyptic?

OK, that's a stupid question. Can a story be apocalyptic when the objective reality is actually not?

Submitted for your approval: "The Twilight Zone". TZ did apocalypse and post-apocalypse better than any one, because whatever they did only had to last 22 minutes. (Let's just forget those over-extended hour shows.) So, they could look at any aspect of a potential apocalypse intensely, and leave the rest of the details to our imaginations.

The particular episode for today is "The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street". It's a fiendishly simple premise that given a few banal, but rattling and inexplicable circumstances, people will turn on each other. Presented with a potential apocalypse, in other words, people will act to destroy the world.

This is particularly a propos of last week's election. In any given US election, a substantial portion of the population is convinced the world will end if their guy doesn't get in. In the past eight years, we've heard a lot of screaming that it actually has or did come to an end, if only we'd been paying attention. (Fortunately, whatever damage has been done is instantly reparable by The Other Guy. But now that guy's gonna bring on the apocalypse.)

I don't think that the phenomena in "Monsters Are Due On Maple Street" would bother anyone much today. We're already used to rolling black outs. But our elections herald the new monsters.

The South Park episode airing the day after the election played on this a bit, with the winners celebrating and the losers fearing the post-election world. But in that episode, it only took the night for people to begin to realize that not much is different. And I think in real life, it'll take a minimum of two years for people to get over this one.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Reminder...

...to myself to:

  1. Review RocknRolla
  2. Review Bender's Game
  3. Find a way to put up the Taylon Doon story
  4. Comment on Michael Crichton
  5. Look at other places to live
  6. Clean up this mess

Irony? Or Karma?

One of my pet formulations is that environmentalism (or ecology as it was drummed into me as a child) is a luxury. Poverty starves environmentalism like [some random fat celebrity] starves the other customers at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

To a man without shelter, a two-thousand year old redwood looks like a roof, some walls, maybe even a floor.

To a man without food, a spotted owl is a feast.

Now, one of the more obvious ramifications from environmental policies is poverty. Energy is more expensive because it's too difficult to produce more of it, owing to various environmental restrictions, just for example. The Kyoto protocols would've cost us enormously even though, without them, we came closer to its goals than the nations that actually agreed to it, and those nations are dropping Kyoto like a hot potato in the face of serious economic problems.

Environmentalists are obsessed with our footprints. Not just our carbon footprints, but every resource we "consume" in our existence. This year's Wall-E (a shoo-in for the animation Oscar) took as given the idea that consumerism would lead to the destruction of earth and our own near extinciton. But the lives led aboard the space station by the remaining humans didn't really affect the earth, and I have to believe that most green-types would approve of that. (Although there was the curious issue of the space station making tons of trash, and no explanation of where the raw materials were coming from.)

Wealth is anathema to this crowd.

Their policies create poverty.

Poverty leads to resistance to their policies.

I just can't figure out if that's ironic or karmic.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Treadmill Desk, Week 11

Saturday: 40 minutes

My legs were tired, like workout tired, so I decided to cut it short today.

Sunday: 70 minutes

What a craptastic day. I'm not Joe the Plumber nor even Les the HVAC guy, and floundering around in the attic made me glad of that fact. Did something to my ankle, boding ill for this week's walking.

But Alan the Woodworker has cobbled me up some arm sleeves for the treadmill! I'll have to put up a before and after to show how it looks. (I'm Blake the computer guy for Alan, so, you know....)

Monday: 0 minutes

My ankle was still tweaked this morning. Alan came over and the wooden sleeves didn't fit. Just one of those days, I guess.

Tuesday: 390 minutes.

My ankle's still a little bit tweaked but treadmill walking doesn't seem to bother it. (I sort of thought I'd end up doing less time, but before I knew it, six-and-a-half hours were gone.)

Wednesday: 340 minutes.

I've got my new sleeves, so the desk is much more stable. Yeah!

Thursday: 400 minutes

Off to a slow start this week but ending strong. Interestingly, the piled-up-books-on-top-of-styrofoam-with-a-board-on-top was pretty stable; the new sleeves are rock solid. I'm recklessly balancing martini glasses on the edge, just for giggles.

Friday: 305 minutes

Total: 1505 minutes. 25 hours. Not bad for a week when I hurt my ankle.

You Know How To Make A Joke, Don't You?

Just put some words together and blow.

Or something.

It looks like I may have yet another online life to support. Something...humor related.

Stay tuned.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

RocknRolla The Vote

The Boy was quite depressed over McCain's loss tonight so we went to see the Guy Ritchie flick.

It's a bit slow in the start. I've been embroiled in a political office controversy--well, maybe not embroiled, but emsinged, anyway--so I actually had trouble staying awake in the beginning. It picks up, and is really moving by the end.

The Boy likes the gangster stuff, so that was good. I'll do a more comprehensive review later.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Make Your Choice

Hello, voter.

I want to play a game.

Here's what happens if you lose: The government you are living under is hooked into your wallet, your children, your home, your health care and your industry. When the electoral college goes to 270, your life will be ripped open.

There is only one vote that will prevent this. Look around. Know that I'm not lying. Better hurry up. Live or die, make your choice.

I don't know why, but the election suddenly reminded me of a Saw movie. Only, you know, gorier.

Well, Crap.

I've got the first chapter of TD ready to go. I created using Google Docs, a courier font, and the exotic "italic" attribute (not profligately, I hope).

But when I upload it to blogspot, it looks like shite. How much does that suck!

The HTML ain't pretty but it should work. That's sorta the point of HTML.

I'll have to think of a different approach. Open to suggestions.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changeling

I love me some Clint Eastwood. Acting, sure. An archetype. But behind the camera? Awesome.

Also, the guy is 78 and has two movies in the hopper, one of which he's directing and starring--as the tough guy! WTF, man. I'm such a freakin' slacker.

Anyway, what I love about Eastwood is that he always hits the universal themes while telling a specific story. For example, some people got upset about Million Dollar Baby, as if it were pro-euthanasia. I say they're taking too broad a view: Million Dollar Baby isn't pro-euthanasia, it's pro-euthanasia, if you have the opportunity to kill Hilary Swank.

Actually, to focus on the euthanasia is to miss the point of the movie. And Eastwood's movies don't really lend themselves to generalizing. They tell a specific story in a very convincing fashion, and they don't skimp on the atmosphere or the research. (That's why Spike Lee's accusations about Flags of our Father struck me as such naked self-promotion.) You could see why Eastwood's character does what he does in Baby. Even if you didn't agree with it, it was true.

Let me throw some roses here on the much maligned Flags of our Fathers. I liked it--more than most apparently--because it was a naked look at the costs and value of propaganda. And how some soldiers give more than their lives.

And now we come to Changeling, the story of a woman whose son is kidnapped in 1928 Los Angeles, and an impostor returned to her by a corrupt Los Angeles Police Department.

You know, you see Eastwood's name on a picture, you expect someone to be blown away with a .357. But no dice.

You see J. Michael Straczynski's name you expect a Narn or at least a cameo by He-Man. Strangely, neither makes an appearance.

But you do get an interesting profile of the abuse of power 80 years ago. Most fascinating is the continued assertion to the mother that the impostor really is hers, and she's just crazy, obstinate or enjoyed her freedom too much.

The icing on the cake is the "Code 12", which allows the cops to commit anyone to the L.A. Psycho Ward. They get special treatment there, too, which involves signing waivers to exonerate the police.

Did I mention this is a true story? And not a fake-true story either.

So, whomever is elected tomorrow, and whomever was elected a few years ago, keep in mind that things are pretty much better now. (I'm not saying this doesn't happen anymore, but at least it requires more effort.)

This is the Angelina Jolie show and I have to say, despite the emphasis of some critics, she pretty well vanishes into the role. She's scrawny, worn out, washed out--and that's before her son gets kidnapped. I'm not joking; very little of her beauty is in evidence, she turns the glamour and sex appeal off completely, and even when she fights back, it's more a quiet, demure determination than a Lara Croft-esque feistiness.

So, what's the verdict? Well, I can now say I've seen Angelina Jolie in a good film!

It's not great, I don't think. It's worth a second view for sure. It lacks a big payoff, though it's remarkable how much suspense there is, as far as whether or not the boy is ever going to return. In fact, the movie goes on past the climax for quite some time where you really get a sense of the alternating hope and despair of a mother missing her child.

Oddly, though, I didn't tear up or anything like that, and I'm usually a sucker for this sort of thing.

So, what else can you expect? A stunning recreation of L.A. in 1928 (and 1935). Wonderful cinematography and expert pacing. Excellent acting rounded out with John Malkovich (as a corruption fighting preacher), relative unknown Jason Butler Harner as the child dismembering psycho, and especially Jeffrey Donovan as Captain J. J. Jones, the arrogant and corrupt officer who sacrifices a distraught mother to save himself from ridicule. Oh, and Michael Kelly as the cop whose horror over child-murdering exceeds his concern for the department's reputation.

And, okay, in the psycho ward, there was this nurse. If they remake Cuckoo's Nest they could put her in the Louise Fletcher role. I mean, seriously, check out her IMDB photo. She looks only half-evil there, and probably isn't even trying. She looks pretty much 100% evil when she's administering shock treatment. Note that the actress, Riki Lindhome, also looks like Eastwood's "type" (Sandra Locke, Frances Fisher) and was in Million Dollar Baby.

This a propos of nothing, but it's the sort of thing your mind picks out when you watch too many movies. Another thing your mind picks out is that they used the phrase "serial killer" once in a voice-over. But that phrase didn't exist in 1930. A detail, but one that leapt out at me.

The 2:20 pretty well flies by and I have to admit JMS has written a solid screenplay.

The Boy also approved, though he didn't seem wowed.

And now back to trying to accomplish in the remaining decades of my life a fraction of what Eastwood has planned for the next 24 months.....

Taylon Doon Update

I've found it challenging to release my words without some rereading. And rewriting, even, though I've never been a big rewriter, frankly. Quite possibly the key to my lack of success. Still.

So I'll be releasing each bit I write 2-3 days after I write it. The critical thing being that I can stand to read it without altering it tremendously.

The first day went fine, not so much on the second. This is day three; we'll see how it goes. Tomorrow, I'll release the first day or two.

Update: Day three went pretty well, and day four is looking good. I'll have to make up some time for day 2, and I probably should overshoot for those days where I get compulsively edit-y.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Aw, what the hell?

The Boy and I figured at the current odds, it was a good time to buy McCain. He's at about 1-to-6 on Intrade. So I create an account and try to fund it--but am informed that my bank refused, apparently due to some recent Congressional shenanigans.

I'm soooo glad they're here to protect me. What would I do without their wisdom?

Meanwhile $700B gets thrown around--and wasted---on a dubious prospect. I guess it's okay to gamble with my money as long as they're doing it.

Saturday, November 1, 2008