Second is "Nuclear Hospital", because that's sort of what it looks like...
Showing posts with label Randomness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Randomness. Show all posts
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Two recent images
A couple of recent images to share. First up, a recent art project, on the subject of puns through sculpture. It's called "Cloud Computer", and is based on an old aluminium heat sink.
Second is "Nuclear Hospital", because that's sort of what it looks like...
Second is "Nuclear Hospital", because that's sort of what it looks like...
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Two rather important images
Firstly, it's important that you know that Amazon now sells Nerf guns by the ounce, like drugs (click image for larger, more readable version). I have no idea how this compares to the street price of cocaine. Anyone?
Secondly, it is also important that you know about the astonishing event taking place in Sheffield this Christmas. Just imagine "the magical blend of Christmas and the circus.... on ice!" I'm not sure one exclamation mark is enough to convey the excitement...
Friday, November 25, 2011
When debating goes south
Before I begin to get into things, let me just go on record to state that this article has nothing to do with any opinions I might or might not have regarding the role of religion in the world. This article is nothing to do with that, it's all about how some people who should know better allow themselves to fall into a mode of argument which weakens the foundations of their arguments. Anyway, on with the rant...
There's very much been a recent trend towards a cheap, unintelligent approach to the debate over the relevance (or lack thereof) of religion in the modern world. I'm not intending to debate the rights and wrongs of religion, but rather to discuss a prevalent habit for lazy argument which makes its proponents look rather absurd.
Leading the way in this field is the humanist Richard Dawkins; you may have come across his work. He is according to all available accounts a fairly intelligent man, but he does have at least one serious failing - his inability to discuss his anti-religious feelings without highlighting them as exactly that: feelings. Dawkins approaches his arguments with a zeal which, were it not painfully ironic to do so, we would happily liken to a religious fervour.
That he is enthusiastic about his subject is not in itself reprehensible - quite the opposite in fact - but when he claims to represent the cold, hard face of reason, he cannot afford to allow his feelings to interfere. He must be the Jedi, the Vulcan, the dispassionate warrior of logic and reason. By not being so, he cripples his own argument.
And there is another angle to the modern anti-religious argument which is self-corrosive: the "sneering" attitude, which aims to suggest that the owner of the attitude isn't even willing to get into a debate about religion, because it's somehow beneath them, or the argument is pointless because it's already been won.
I'm a huge fan of Stephen Fry, a witty, urbane, intelligent man with a sense of humour which can dissolve me into fits of laughter. But he is prone to a rather sneering attitude to the issue of religion, an attitude which can be summed up as "oh, I'm sure it's a lovely thing for some people, but come now, it's not really something serious, is it? Haha".
I'm not interested in having a discussion about whether his views are right or wrong, but his approach to the argument, which simply put assumes that it is impossible for an intelligent person to examine religion and subsequently wish to join in, is rather crass and unworthy of the man. I'm convinced there are a number of really rather intelligent people involved in religion all over the world, and to assume that their faith comes as a result of some sort of failure of reason really does insult that intelligence.
I suppose my angle here is that I dislike sloppy argument with weak foundations. The same accusations could, I have no doubt, be levelled at the religious communities of the world, but, and here's the fundamental difference, religions never claimed to be based on cold, hard logic. Opposing views often do claim to be logical, and therefore arguments submitted by the anti-religion lobby need to transcend any possible emotional colouring, or the laziness of the condescending "come, now". Without being beyond reproach, these arguments begin to look a little childish, and therefore lacking in fundamental validity.
There's very much been a recent trend towards a cheap, unintelligent approach to the debate over the relevance (or lack thereof) of religion in the modern world. I'm not intending to debate the rights and wrongs of religion, but rather to discuss a prevalent habit for lazy argument which makes its proponents look rather absurd.
Leading the way in this field is the humanist Richard Dawkins; you may have come across his work. He is according to all available accounts a fairly intelligent man, but he does have at least one serious failing - his inability to discuss his anti-religious feelings without highlighting them as exactly that: feelings. Dawkins approaches his arguments with a zeal which, were it not painfully ironic to do so, we would happily liken to a religious fervour.
That he is enthusiastic about his subject is not in itself reprehensible - quite the opposite in fact - but when he claims to represent the cold, hard face of reason, he cannot afford to allow his feelings to interfere. He must be the Jedi, the Vulcan, the dispassionate warrior of logic and reason. By not being so, he cripples his own argument.
And there is another angle to the modern anti-religious argument which is self-corrosive: the "sneering" attitude, which aims to suggest that the owner of the attitude isn't even willing to get into a debate about religion, because it's somehow beneath them, or the argument is pointless because it's already been won.
I'm a huge fan of Stephen Fry, a witty, urbane, intelligent man with a sense of humour which can dissolve me into fits of laughter. But he is prone to a rather sneering attitude to the issue of religion, an attitude which can be summed up as "oh, I'm sure it's a lovely thing for some people, but come now, it's not really something serious, is it? Haha".
I'm not interested in having a discussion about whether his views are right or wrong, but his approach to the argument, which simply put assumes that it is impossible for an intelligent person to examine religion and subsequently wish to join in, is rather crass and unworthy of the man. I'm convinced there are a number of really rather intelligent people involved in religion all over the world, and to assume that their faith comes as a result of some sort of failure of reason really does insult that intelligence.
I suppose my angle here is that I dislike sloppy argument with weak foundations. The same accusations could, I have no doubt, be levelled at the religious communities of the world, but, and here's the fundamental difference, religions never claimed to be based on cold, hard logic. Opposing views often do claim to be logical, and therefore arguments submitted by the anti-religion lobby need to transcend any possible emotional colouring, or the laziness of the condescending "come, now". Without being beyond reproach, these arguments begin to look a little childish, and therefore lacking in fundamental validity.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Vitriol of the Left-handed Man
The world has, in the past, been a bad place for left-handed people. There are endless accounts of lefties being associated with evil of every kind, and left-handed people have been mistrusted and treated like social lepers in the past. Some of the anecdotes are quite personal to me, too: my own grandmother had her left hand tied behind her back in an effort to make her write with her right. It didn't work, and eventually the bastards relented.
At this point I should mention that I, too, am left-handed. I've never been adversely affected by 'leftism'. I don't have difficulty with daily tasks, and a lot of things I do in the way a right-handed person would, simply because it's easier that way. I'm lucky in a way, because although I have difficulty writing with my right hand, most other tasks are possible, or even preferable. I'm a pretty good pool player left handed, but not far behind right handed, so in some ways I even have an advantage. I play football, hockey and tennis in a right-handed manner, and operate my computer with the mouse to my right.
None of these things bother me particularly, and I'm not about to get up in arms about discrimination or anything. But being a father has highlighted one of the areas in which leftism has a personal impact - the area of language.
Regular readers might have an appreciation of the fact that, to me, language is a rather important thing. I really rather enjoy writing, and get a great deal of pleasure from exploring the origins of language, of understanding why a particular word or phrase has come to have a certain meaning.
At the moment, we are trying - in a small, irregular and rather messy way - to teach our two-year-old daughter the difference between right and left, principally to ensure that the right shoe goes on the right foot. And there is the problem. The 'right' shoe on the 'right' foot. What we mean, of course, is the correct shoe on the correct foot, unless of course we really are talking about the right-hand shoe on the right-hand foot.
Do you know why the word 'right' has become synonymous with 'correct'? It's because its opposite, 'left', was considered 'incorrect'. The right side was the correct side, and so the word 'right' replaced the word 'correct' in most of the places it is used in our language. Probably because it has half the syllables.
This use of 'right' even extended to the naming of animals - the Southern Right Whale is so named because it was considered the 'right' whale to catch - good blubber or something, I presume. It should be called the Southern Correct Whale, though with my environmentalist hat on I should point out that there is no such thing as correctness in whale hunting, except for by those who rely on it for food (Inuit peoples often do).
I'm not after a revolution here, but sometimes I'd like people to think about the origins of the words they use. Trying to teach a two-year-old that there are two senses for a word is a complex business, especially when it's one of the more fundamental concepts they will have to grasp. And in case you're wondering, there's no sign yet of handedness in her.
At this point I should mention that I, too, am left-handed. I've never been adversely affected by 'leftism'. I don't have difficulty with daily tasks, and a lot of things I do in the way a right-handed person would, simply because it's easier that way. I'm lucky in a way, because although I have difficulty writing with my right hand, most other tasks are possible, or even preferable. I'm a pretty good pool player left handed, but not far behind right handed, so in some ways I even have an advantage. I play football, hockey and tennis in a right-handed manner, and operate my computer with the mouse to my right.
None of these things bother me particularly, and I'm not about to get up in arms about discrimination or anything. But being a father has highlighted one of the areas in which leftism has a personal impact - the area of language.
Regular readers might have an appreciation of the fact that, to me, language is a rather important thing. I really rather enjoy writing, and get a great deal of pleasure from exploring the origins of language, of understanding why a particular word or phrase has come to have a certain meaning.
At the moment, we are trying - in a small, irregular and rather messy way - to teach our two-year-old daughter the difference between right and left, principally to ensure that the right shoe goes on the right foot. And there is the problem. The 'right' shoe on the 'right' foot. What we mean, of course, is the correct shoe on the correct foot, unless of course we really are talking about the right-hand shoe on the right-hand foot.
Do you know why the word 'right' has become synonymous with 'correct'? It's because its opposite, 'left', was considered 'incorrect'. The right side was the correct side, and so the word 'right' replaced the word 'correct' in most of the places it is used in our language. Probably because it has half the syllables.
This use of 'right' even extended to the naming of animals - the Southern Right Whale is so named because it was considered the 'right' whale to catch - good blubber or something, I presume. It should be called the Southern Correct Whale, though with my environmentalist hat on I should point out that there is no such thing as correctness in whale hunting, except for by those who rely on it for food (Inuit peoples often do).
I'm not after a revolution here, but sometimes I'd like people to think about the origins of the words they use. Trying to teach a two-year-old that there are two senses for a word is a complex business, especially when it's one of the more fundamental concepts they will have to grasp. And in case you're wondering, there's no sign yet of handedness in her.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
A Little Thing about Punctuation
I'm not a "grammar Nazi" (horrible term), but I do strongly believe in the importance of proper punctuation in written communication*.
Punctuation exists for one reason, and one reason alone: so that the readers of a document are able to determine how its author would like them to read it. It sets the rules for how a sentence should be construed. As such, there really aren't any rules about how punctuation should be applied. People will tell you there are, but there aren't. Take, for example, the work of Agatha Christie - she abuses hyphens like they've done her some personal injury, but you get her point.
The only rules lie around the common interpretation of the symbols we use. For instance, we all know that a full stop (or 'period'. Ew...) signifies in our minds that we should pause and take a mental breath. Or a physical one, if reading out loud. Similarly, a comma indicates a lesser pause, and a semicolon somewhere in between; though we should only use the semi when we're going to continue along the same lines with the second half of the sentence (or when separating items in a list which follows a colon).
As long as there's agreement and understanding on what these little dots and squiggles mean, you really should use punctuation how you see fit. And word order? Well, that matters hardly at all; hardly matters at all, in fact.
But God help you if you can't tell the difference between there, their and they're. That's just stupid.
*There's a subtle difference between grammar and punctuation, but that's not really the point here.
Punctuation exists for one reason, and one reason alone: so that the readers of a document are able to determine how its author would like them to read it. It sets the rules for how a sentence should be construed. As such, there really aren't any rules about how punctuation should be applied. People will tell you there are, but there aren't. Take, for example, the work of Agatha Christie - she abuses hyphens like they've done her some personal injury, but you get her point.
The only rules lie around the common interpretation of the symbols we use. For instance, we all know that a full stop (or 'period'. Ew...) signifies in our minds that we should pause and take a mental breath. Or a physical one, if reading out loud. Similarly, a comma indicates a lesser pause, and a semicolon somewhere in between; though we should only use the semi when we're going to continue along the same lines with the second half of the sentence (or when separating items in a list which follows a colon).
As long as there's agreement and understanding on what these little dots and squiggles mean, you really should use punctuation how you see fit. And word order? Well, that matters hardly at all; hardly matters at all, in fact.
But God help you if you can't tell the difference between there, their and they're. That's just stupid.
*There's a subtle difference between grammar and punctuation, but that's not really the point here.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Time warp
Samurai-san looks a bit surprised to be coming up against a Styracosaur. For the record, Baseball Bob was quite happy.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
The skies they are a-burning!
And, ten minutes later:
Just look at the range of blues in that second picture, from violet right through to indigo. Astounding, said the Gruffalo.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Paperclipsical
Paper clips. Amazing things, really. Quite apart from the vast array of functions which any given paper clip might serve (holding two sheets of paper together, for instance. Or three. Sometimes even four), these small metal moments of joy can also boast a plethora of brilliant names in European languages.
The Dutch plump for the simple 'paperclip', which is nice, if a little easy.
The Spanish, in true mañana spirit, have settled on the abbreviated 'clips'.
The Hungarians, linguistic outsiders of astonishing uniqueness, use 'irodai gemkapos', sounding not unlike a flavour of orc in Lord of the Rings.
Our industrious friends the Czechs use the wonderful 'dopisni sponky' ["Hi, a box of medium sponkies, please"]
But first prize goes to the French who, in a bout of literalism to rival the Welsh for microwave ('popty ping' - literally 'an oven which goes ping') have dubbed these mighty curls of wire 'trombones'. Parfait!
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Friday, September 17, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Subconscious Editing
It's funny the way the human brain works, isn't it? I mean, quite apart from the fact it appears to work on electricity (which is quite frankly ridiculous if you ask me...), it can do some pretty bizarre stuff at times.
Take, for instance, the way that it can recognise not only patterns, but also tiny incongruities in them. The patterns don't have to be numerical sequences or geometrical shapes, either. A pattern can be a block of text, written in a particular style. One word out of place - not misspelled, just unexpected - can leap right out of the page at you.
The example which led me to blog about this is a recent experience with a word suddenly lodging itself in my mind. The word was 'blood'. Here I was, sitting at my desk with my email open on one screen and a fairly dry, technically worded document open on the other. Neither of which should contain the word 'blood'. At all.
And yet... I scanned through the document a couple of times, and there it was, in the phrase 'the life blood of asset management planning'. In all of the text, in a place where it really had no reason to be, was my word. Of all the words on that page, my brain had honed in on 'blood'.
Why did this happen? And more importantly, are there wider implications here? I know that I have at least a partially photographic memory - I can remember numbers I've seen written down, such as license plates on cars. Not all the time, but way more than average. And I can remember visual patterns with surprising ease and accuracy.
Could it be that as an extension of this is my brain scanned all of the words in the document and found this one out of place? Or was because it was so wrong in the context of the words written there that I couldn't help but spot it? Or was it just a fluke?
I don't have the answers. Sometimes I wish I'd done cognitive psychology, just to answer questions like this. But on the other hand, I wouldn't have liked to be like Derren Brown. Stupid man...
Take, for instance, the way that it can recognise not only patterns, but also tiny incongruities in them. The patterns don't have to be numerical sequences or geometrical shapes, either. A pattern can be a block of text, written in a particular style. One word out of place - not misspelled, just unexpected - can leap right out of the page at you.
The example which led me to blog about this is a recent experience with a word suddenly lodging itself in my mind. The word was 'blood'. Here I was, sitting at my desk with my email open on one screen and a fairly dry, technically worded document open on the other. Neither of which should contain the word 'blood'. At all.
And yet... I scanned through the document a couple of times, and there it was, in the phrase 'the life blood of asset management planning'. In all of the text, in a place where it really had no reason to be, was my word. Of all the words on that page, my brain had honed in on 'blood'.
Why did this happen? And more importantly, are there wider implications here? I know that I have at least a partially photographic memory - I can remember numbers I've seen written down, such as license plates on cars. Not all the time, but way more than average. And I can remember visual patterns with surprising ease and accuracy.
Could it be that as an extension of this is my brain scanned all of the words in the document and found this one out of place? Or was because it was so wrong in the context of the words written there that I couldn't help but spot it? Or was it just a fluke?
I don't have the answers. Sometimes I wish I'd done cognitive psychology, just to answer questions like this. But on the other hand, I wouldn't have liked to be like Derren Brown. Stupid man...
Monday, August 23, 2010
It's morbid, but we must have answers...
When the queen dies - assuming she's succeeded by a male heir, which seems likely - do all the QCs automatically and instantly become KCs? Would that not be a really good time for a business card printing company to launch an advertising campaign to the members of the Bar?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Cartographic enlightenment
I've done a bit of research (i.e. surfing the net) lately on the subject of drawing maps for fantasy novels. I'm trying to create a convincing map for one of the worlds in which a couple of recent stories are set.
One thing which strikes me about almost all of the tutorials I've found is the manner in which they suggest writing your novel. The general consensus seems to be that the first step is to create the world in which the story is to be set. One or two of the tutorials even suggest mapmaking as a means to a plot.
What surprises me is the frequency at which this idea recurs. I'm not suggesting it's wrong, by any means - after all, it's a technique, and if it works for you then it's right. It is, though, a heck of a long way from how I go about writing stories, which got me wondering if perhaps I was alone in my methods. Let me try to explain how a story forms for me...
The first thing which happens is the imagining of a scene. This is always out of the blue, and never has to be considered. I usually let it brew for a bit before committing pen to paper or fingers to 'board. Into this scene I place a character. Typically, the character's, er... character, is defined by the scene in which they have been placed - it's always going to be perfectly natural for them to be there, otherwise the scene isn't going to gel.
Once that scene is in place, I try to expand from it. What led up to this situation? What is a likely outcome? Is this the beginning of the novel (common), or the end (uncommon)?
This leads to placement in a world. Often it's possible to shoehorn the scene/character into an existing world, but sometimes a new world is created. If the story progresses well, the new world will expand and evolve inside my head, until I decide that it's getting a little too difficult to remember all the names of the places where people have walked/ridden/stolen things/got killed. At that point, and not before, I draw out a map.
There's a good reason this is one of the last things I do - until the story is fixed in my mind, how am I meant to draw out a map of where everything takes place? It's a bit like the reason I don't come up with full plots before I begin writing - I don't know what happens to the characters, and even if I did write something down, things evolve so tortuously in my mind that it would bear no relation to the final product. If I drew a map before I started, it would look nothing like the world I ended up with.
I don't know; perhaps I am alone here. Perhaps it's more normal to plot and plan, and know what's coming before your characters do. I just can't work that way. It's not that I find it restrictive, it's just a waste of time because it's bound to be wrong. I'm much better just getting on with things and filling all that paperwork in after the event.
The map, by the way, is going rather well, although I am having a bit of an issue with deciduous trees...
There's a good reason this is one of the last things I do - until the story is fixed in my mind, how am I meant to draw out a map of where everything takes place? It's a bit like the reason I don't come up with full plots before I begin writing - I don't know what happens to the characters, and even if I did write something down, things evolve so tortuously in my mind that it would bear no relation to the final product. If I drew a map before I started, it would look nothing like the world I ended up with.
I don't know; perhaps I am alone here. Perhaps it's more normal to plot and plan, and know what's coming before your characters do. I just can't work that way. It's not that I find it restrictive, it's just a waste of time because it's bound to be wrong. I'm much better just getting on with things and filling all that paperwork in after the event.
The map, by the way, is going rather well, although I am having a bit of an issue with deciduous trees...
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Waitrose - taking basics to the extreeeeme!!
Even Waitrose, purveyors of extremely fine foodstuffs at extremely fine prices, have admitted that a budget range is necessary. Waitrose Essentials is basically stuff which is of a higher quality than anyone else's stuff, but at a price only slightly in excess of everyone else's 'high quality' range. You get the idea, I'm sure.
The essentials range includes such things as hand soap. This product has taken the idea of 'basics' to a strangely illogical conclusion. The product is still of good quality. The design of the packaging is still well executed, busy but simple. The saving, therefore, the very thing which makes this a 'basic' product, is in the name. They've shortened the word 'anitbacterial' to 'antibac'. Go Team Waitrose!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Hmm, Google, you know me so well... :)
It's strange what makes me happy.
I use Chrome as a browser. I'll not get into why.
On the Options dialogue, there's a tab in my version called 'Under the Bonnet', containing all sorts of fun settings. For readers unfamiliar with English as it's spoken in England, the 'bonnet' is the part of the car the Americans call the 'hood'. One the American version of the software, it does indeed have a tab named 'Under the Hood'.
It pleases me to a disproportionate level that Google thought of changing that based upon the fact that I'm in England. Thanks, Google.
I use Chrome as a browser. I'll not get into why.
On the Options dialogue, there's a tab in my version called 'Under the Bonnet', containing all sorts of fun settings. For readers unfamiliar with English as it's spoken in England, the 'bonnet' is the part of the car the Americans call the 'hood'. One the American version of the software, it does indeed have a tab named 'Under the Hood'.
It pleases me to a disproportionate level that Google thought of changing that based upon the fact that I'm in England. Thanks, Google.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Trouble with Opinions
I've come to the conclusion that there are two fundamental pre-requisites for the provision and acceptance of opinions. Opinion-giving/receiving will fail if the following two conditions are not met:
1) You, the asker/receiver of opinions must be willing to accept that you are wrong/the other person is right.
2) The other person, the askee/giver of opinions, must be prepared the accept that they are wrong/you are right.
Most opinion sharing failures appear to be solely due to breeches of these core conditions. There are, or course, auxiliary 'rules' which are always worth considering:
a) Do not seek opinions on websites. The human/computer interface is well known as a magnifier of gross idiocy.
b) Do not seek the opinion of anyone who is a direct rival for love/job/jellyfish.
c) Do not seek the opinion of anyone who has recently demonstrated a tendency to violate conditions 1 & 2 above.
d) Do seek the opinions of inanimate objects/pets/furniture/the sky.
e) Do not seek the opinion of your parents beyond the point at which your age is greater than or equal to two-thirds of the average of theirs. They'll be losing it by this point, and will inevitably lead you down the garden path.
f) Do seek the opinion of the garden path (see point d).
1) You, the asker/receiver of opinions must be willing to accept that you are wrong/the other person is right.
2) The other person, the askee/giver of opinions, must be prepared the accept that they are wrong/you are right.
Most opinion sharing failures appear to be solely due to breeches of these core conditions. There are, or course, auxiliary 'rules' which are always worth considering:
a) Do not seek opinions on websites. The human/computer interface is well known as a magnifier of gross idiocy.
b) Do not seek the opinion of anyone who is a direct rival for love/job/jellyfish.
c) Do not seek the opinion of anyone who has recently demonstrated a tendency to violate conditions 1 & 2 above.
d) Do seek the opinions of inanimate objects/pets/furniture/the sky.
e) Do not seek the opinion of your parents beyond the point at which your age is greater than or equal to two-thirds of the average of theirs. They'll be losing it by this point, and will inevitably lead you down the garden path.
f) Do seek the opinion of the garden path (see point d).
Monday, April 19, 2010
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