Fountains of Wayne: Welcome Interstate Managers
You might have a bit of trouble getting hold of it. Well, at least Amazon did, maybe there was just a temporary shortage. Well worth the effort though - very good album. To quote the review snippet on the sticker on the front, "you should buy Welcome Interstate Managers. In the unlikely event that you don't like it you could increase the sum of human happiness by passing it on to a friend". They're right, it makes you one happy person to listen to. Think Wheatus, but grown up with a Ben Folds tone to the lyrics.
On a Ben Folds theme, there's a new single ('Landed') out, but Sony haven't released it to the UK version of iTunes, so I can't get hold of it to tell you exactly how good it is. Album's out soon(ish), though, so we'll see...
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Thursday, February 10, 2005
BBC NEWS | World | Americas | US school's new challenge to Darwin
This bothers me slightly. It always seems that there is no possibility that a compromise can be reached between creationism and evolution theory. The fact is that it's perfectly possible to support both ideas within the same framework. I won't pretend that the suggestion that I'm about to make is new - it's been aired many times before, most comically by Dave Gorman in his Googlewhack Adventure book (which is brilliantly funny and sobering in equal amounts). The theory goes something like this: there is/are a God/Gods, and he/she/it/they set in place a sequence of events which led to the evolution of the species. I can hear the sharp intake of breath from here. "No," you say, "that's simply not plausible!" What, less plausible than the whole universe being created in six days, or the quite ridiculously small chance that life would come into being and grow as complex as it is without some intervention? Come on, give me a break!
I'm not actually decided myself yet. I mean, I'm a scientist, and I've seen how tenacious life can be, but that's not really an argument for either side, is it? Creationists would argue that the existence of life in bizarre and unlikely places simply proves that God exists. Otherwise, how would these evolutionary unlikelihoods even exist? But Darwinists would argue that it's proof that there is no need to have a God designing everything, that life itself is such an all-conquering force that it will spring into existence at the merest hint of a water molecule and some amino acids. Neither side is particularly convincing, and there's evidence for both. I find it hard to believe that the Bible's story of creation as told in Genesis is meant to be a literal story, and if you assume that it isn't, there's plenty of room for interpretation, none of which actually conflicts too strongly with the products of millions of years of evolution. But creationist arguments often centre around the implausibility of random evolutionary events leading to human beings from the primordial sludge which existed 3.5 billion years (give or take) ago. That's silly. I can prove that evolution is a fast and powerful force. Bacteria are fairly simple entities, but in fact have a moderate degree of genetic complexity; they just happen to be quite small, and therefore made up of only a few components. Bacteria are found everywhere on earth. Everywhere. In all places. The single most extraordinary of these, however, is the type of bacteria which live on the control rods of nuclear reactors. Not only are these guys subjected to the most intense heat, but they are constantly bombarded by radiation. Radiation is one of the biggest causes of genetic mutation, and mutation usually leads to cell death. Sometimes it doesn't, as in the case of cancer cells, but most of the time mutated cells die or are killed. Intense radiation should kill all life. Nothing should survive in a nuclear reactor, and yet in the fifty years or so we've been playing with fission, a type of bacteria has evolved which is stable against the immense radiative bombardment that it receives on a daily basis, and in fact thrives upon it. That's a rather short space of time, on the scale of the hundreds of millions of years evolution has been going. So it would seem that the evolutionary viewpoint has rather strong support, wouldn't it? Except for one thing - you get all the ingredients of the most basic life forms possible and put them in a test tube, and what do you get? Nothing, except for a big mix of ingredients. Life doesn't spring into being. So, how did it do it in the first place? Some scientists have suggested a lightning strike might have kick-started life, blending and heating the components in such a way as to make life appear out of the goo. Well, try it. Take your test tube and put 10,000V through it. It won't make life, I can guarantee you that. It'll boil everything inside, and dissociate the amino acids. D'oh, not exactly the result you were looking for, right? Another favourite is the possibility that life started elsewhere, and came in on bits of space rock ("asteroids", we like to call them...). This always leaves one question conveniently ignored - where the hell did this life come from, and how did it start at that end? Who knows, maybe God(s) made the universe, then breathed a bit of life into a bit of rock, and threw it at the nascent Earth, knowing that it would eventually lead to a race of highly intelligent, self-aware, inquisitive gits, because the chemistry on the surface and the predicted number of meteor impacts for the foreseeable future (which is, of course, the whole expanse of time) is just right. When you look at how ridiculously complex life is, there's no way you can discount any of these possibilities on the basis that they're a little unlikely. Life itself is unlikely. Very fuckin' unlikely.
This bothers me slightly. It always seems that there is no possibility that a compromise can be reached between creationism and evolution theory. The fact is that it's perfectly possible to support both ideas within the same framework. I won't pretend that the suggestion that I'm about to make is new - it's been aired many times before, most comically by Dave Gorman in his Googlewhack Adventure book (which is brilliantly funny and sobering in equal amounts). The theory goes something like this: there is/are a God/Gods, and he/she/it/they set in place a sequence of events which led to the evolution of the species. I can hear the sharp intake of breath from here. "No," you say, "that's simply not plausible!" What, less plausible than the whole universe being created in six days, or the quite ridiculously small chance that life would come into being and grow as complex as it is without some intervention? Come on, give me a break!
I'm not actually decided myself yet. I mean, I'm a scientist, and I've seen how tenacious life can be, but that's not really an argument for either side, is it? Creationists would argue that the existence of life in bizarre and unlikely places simply proves that God exists. Otherwise, how would these evolutionary unlikelihoods even exist? But Darwinists would argue that it's proof that there is no need to have a God designing everything, that life itself is such an all-conquering force that it will spring into existence at the merest hint of a water molecule and some amino acids. Neither side is particularly convincing, and there's evidence for both. I find it hard to believe that the Bible's story of creation as told in Genesis is meant to be a literal story, and if you assume that it isn't, there's plenty of room for interpretation, none of which actually conflicts too strongly with the products of millions of years of evolution. But creationist arguments often centre around the implausibility of random evolutionary events leading to human beings from the primordial sludge which existed 3.5 billion years (give or take) ago. That's silly. I can prove that evolution is a fast and powerful force. Bacteria are fairly simple entities, but in fact have a moderate degree of genetic complexity; they just happen to be quite small, and therefore made up of only a few components. Bacteria are found everywhere on earth. Everywhere. In all places. The single most extraordinary of these, however, is the type of bacteria which live on the control rods of nuclear reactors. Not only are these guys subjected to the most intense heat, but they are constantly bombarded by radiation. Radiation is one of the biggest causes of genetic mutation, and mutation usually leads to cell death. Sometimes it doesn't, as in the case of cancer cells, but most of the time mutated cells die or are killed. Intense radiation should kill all life. Nothing should survive in a nuclear reactor, and yet in the fifty years or so we've been playing with fission, a type of bacteria has evolved which is stable against the immense radiative bombardment that it receives on a daily basis, and in fact thrives upon it. That's a rather short space of time, on the scale of the hundreds of millions of years evolution has been going. So it would seem that the evolutionary viewpoint has rather strong support, wouldn't it? Except for one thing - you get all the ingredients of the most basic life forms possible and put them in a test tube, and what do you get? Nothing, except for a big mix of ingredients. Life doesn't spring into being. So, how did it do it in the first place? Some scientists have suggested a lightning strike might have kick-started life, blending and heating the components in such a way as to make life appear out of the goo. Well, try it. Take your test tube and put 10,000V through it. It won't make life, I can guarantee you that. It'll boil everything inside, and dissociate the amino acids. D'oh, not exactly the result you were looking for, right? Another favourite is the possibility that life started elsewhere, and came in on bits of space rock ("asteroids", we like to call them...). This always leaves one question conveniently ignored - where the hell did this life come from, and how did it start at that end? Who knows, maybe God(s) made the universe, then breathed a bit of life into a bit of rock, and threw it at the nascent Earth, knowing that it would eventually lead to a race of highly intelligent, self-aware, inquisitive gits, because the chemistry on the surface and the predicted number of meteor impacts for the foreseeable future (which is, of course, the whole expanse of time) is just right. When you look at how ridiculously complex life is, there's no way you can discount any of these possibilities on the basis that they're a little unlikely. Life itself is unlikely. Very fuckin' unlikely.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
I'd just like to lament for a moment...
News reaches me today of the closure of my favourite old nightclub, the Blue Orchid in Croydon. For years the haven of speed garage, and indeed its very birthing place, and now lost to us all. I had e-mail correspondence with friends about its passing, and thought I'd share with you the little euology I wrote:
"You know what I’ll miss most? It’s not the preposterously high prices, nor the ridiculous size of the hoop earrings on the girls. Nor, indeed, is it the dodgy bird getting fingered in the background of the photo we were taking of Ant, or stepping in the way before Oz gets himself spread over the walls by a guy only marginally less pissed than he was. I won’t even miss the way your shoes would stick to the carpet on the way in, or the smell of that alleyway they always chucked you into when you were too far gone, or the Smarties-tube kaleidoscope of Ben Shermans, or the anticipation of getting in there, or dancing the Gunman on stage to the derision of all my mates, or experimenting to find out that beer really is very bad for my kidneys, or not being able to hear yourself think for three days afterwards because you were standing RIGHT in front of a speaker all night, too pissed to move away. No, what I’ll miss is that feeling that you really were present at the height of something truly great. Looking back, objectively, it wasn’t all that smart. But damn me if it didn’t feel a thousand times better back then.
Rest in Peace my old friend. Never shall we forget…"
That's all for now, I'm off to stare misty-eyed into the middle distance.
News reaches me today of the closure of my favourite old nightclub, the Blue Orchid in Croydon. For years the haven of speed garage, and indeed its very birthing place, and now lost to us all. I had e-mail correspondence with friends about its passing, and thought I'd share with you the little euology I wrote:
"You know what I’ll miss most? It’s not the preposterously high prices, nor the ridiculous size of the hoop earrings on the girls. Nor, indeed, is it the dodgy bird getting fingered in the background of the photo we were taking of Ant, or stepping in the way before Oz gets himself spread over the walls by a guy only marginally less pissed than he was. I won’t even miss the way your shoes would stick to the carpet on the way in, or the smell of that alleyway they always chucked you into when you were too far gone, or the Smarties-tube kaleidoscope of Ben Shermans, or the anticipation of getting in there, or dancing the Gunman on stage to the derision of all my mates, or experimenting to find out that beer really is very bad for my kidneys, or not being able to hear yourself think for three days afterwards because you were standing RIGHT in front of a speaker all night, too pissed to move away. No, what I’ll miss is that feeling that you really were present at the height of something truly great. Looking back, objectively, it wasn’t all that smart. But damn me if it didn’t feel a thousand times better back then.
Rest in Peace my old friend. Never shall we forget…"
That's all for now, I'm off to stare misty-eyed into the middle distance.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Words of the Day: is there really something better than this? Hell yes, there is.
As I sit in my Ikea-styled office, tapping away on the keys of my Intel powered PC, my mind wanders to other places and times. It's because I listen to the music I listen to. Greenday, Blink 182. Makes me want to be somewhere else. These songs are inspired by a place I never go. There's no way to get there from where I am, no roads, no planes, no tracks. It's grey outside, cold and drizzling. Instead of riding my mountain bike along twisting singletrack, lifted in mind and body, I sit here staring at the steel grey sky, being added to by the grey steel slowly blocking my only view. Bastards. I want to surf waves, not internet pages. I want to be uncomfortable, to be cold when it's not warm, hot when I have to be, wet when the Ocean (capital 'o') demands it. I feel like sometimes I'm the only one who feels this way. It's only fun if it's sanitised, controlled fun, it seems. Not if you end up dirty, cold, wet and fucking miserable. It's that particular misery you'll look back and realise was the peak of euphoria. Nothing comes close. You can be at the very end of your exertion, no energy left, nothing left to give, no more offerings for Poseidon, but I guarantee you'll find one more when you see that wave coming. One more time, one more paddle out, one more turn and wait, one more moment of unsurpassed pleasure as the swell lifts you, pitches you forward, carries you down the face of the wave and threatens to crush you from above, all in the same breath. One more swift transition, one more moment of instability as you assert your control over the unruly lump of styrene beneath you, one way forward, and that's down, into the heart of it, water curling over you, threatening. Then that jolt as you hit it just right, that swift transition from slug to bullet, from wave-bait to whitewater taunter. You can't outrun the thing, can't get away from it, because you're stuck to the face of the it. But you know you have it tamed, if not beaten. Can't be complacent, but there's still a moment of celebration, still the feeling that for that briefest of moments you're king, or queen, whatever. Then it dumps you, and you feel fucking stupid, but you go back for more, because no matter how many times you get hit, no matter how many times you come up with water in your lungs, no matter how many times your eyes scream in pain at the intrusion of the gallons of water, no matter how cold you are, no matter how many people have lost bits of themselves doing this this year, no matter that there's a storm coming and it's going to fry anything sticking up above the surface, no matter that your suit is ripped, no matter that you're bleeding, you damn well want to be out there again and again. That's why this office will never be satisfactory. No matter how much Ikea there is.
As I sit in my Ikea-styled office, tapping away on the keys of my Intel powered PC, my mind wanders to other places and times. It's because I listen to the music I listen to. Greenday, Blink 182. Makes me want to be somewhere else. These songs are inspired by a place I never go. There's no way to get there from where I am, no roads, no planes, no tracks. It's grey outside, cold and drizzling. Instead of riding my mountain bike along twisting singletrack, lifted in mind and body, I sit here staring at the steel grey sky, being added to by the grey steel slowly blocking my only view. Bastards. I want to surf waves, not internet pages. I want to be uncomfortable, to be cold when it's not warm, hot when I have to be, wet when the Ocean (capital 'o') demands it. I feel like sometimes I'm the only one who feels this way. It's only fun if it's sanitised, controlled fun, it seems. Not if you end up dirty, cold, wet and fucking miserable. It's that particular misery you'll look back and realise was the peak of euphoria. Nothing comes close. You can be at the very end of your exertion, no energy left, nothing left to give, no more offerings for Poseidon, but I guarantee you'll find one more when you see that wave coming. One more time, one more paddle out, one more turn and wait, one more moment of unsurpassed pleasure as the swell lifts you, pitches you forward, carries you down the face of the wave and threatens to crush you from above, all in the same breath. One more swift transition, one more moment of instability as you assert your control over the unruly lump of styrene beneath you, one way forward, and that's down, into the heart of it, water curling over you, threatening. Then that jolt as you hit it just right, that swift transition from slug to bullet, from wave-bait to whitewater taunter. You can't outrun the thing, can't get away from it, because you're stuck to the face of the it. But you know you have it tamed, if not beaten. Can't be complacent, but there's still a moment of celebration, still the feeling that for that briefest of moments you're king, or queen, whatever. Then it dumps you, and you feel fucking stupid, but you go back for more, because no matter how many times you get hit, no matter how many times you come up with water in your lungs, no matter how many times your eyes scream in pain at the intrusion of the gallons of water, no matter how cold you are, no matter how many people have lost bits of themselves doing this this year, no matter that there's a storm coming and it's going to fry anything sticking up above the surface, no matter that your suit is ripped, no matter that you're bleeding, you damn well want to be out there again and again. That's why this office will never be satisfactory. No matter how much Ikea there is.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
Words of the Day: what the f***?
I ordered some stuff online. Some CDs. Everyone who's spent more than a few quid online will know that estimated and real delivery dates are rarely in agreement, so I wasn't exactly expecting miracles. But miracles I got - some CDs ordered after last post on Saturday arrived this morning, Monday morning. Now, in countries where business operates 7 days a week, that might not seem too surprising. But, as everyone who's lived in England will tell you, there's no post on Sundays. They shut the whole bloody thing down. Well, not quite, but you don't count Sunday as a day when working out how long it'll take a package to arrive. This is indeed a wondrous thingy. And even more so when you consider that the other CDs I ordered from the same company two days previously have shown no sign of arriving...
Back to more normal things, I really need to sit down and sh*t out another book sometime soon. Main problem is finding time and brilliance, neither of which I am overly endowed with. Damn. I do have a very strong idea about its direction. It's definitely still rooted in traditional fantasy, but I want to make it a story about environmental issues. Scary? Hell yes. But might work. Thing is, I think it's going to be one of those things where the issue is well buried in the plot, and the decision is the reader's. I hate being told what to think, especially when reading books, and I'm guessing that other people feel the same way. So it's there, waiting to be written, waiting to be born into a cruel world, etc. Maybe one day I'll finish the other few hundred...
I ordered some stuff online. Some CDs. Everyone who's spent more than a few quid online will know that estimated and real delivery dates are rarely in agreement, so I wasn't exactly expecting miracles. But miracles I got - some CDs ordered after last post on Saturday arrived this morning, Monday morning. Now, in countries where business operates 7 days a week, that might not seem too surprising. But, as everyone who's lived in England will tell you, there's no post on Sundays. They shut the whole bloody thing down. Well, not quite, but you don't count Sunday as a day when working out how long it'll take a package to arrive. This is indeed a wondrous thingy. And even more so when you consider that the other CDs I ordered from the same company two days previously have shown no sign of arriving...
Back to more normal things, I really need to sit down and sh*t out another book sometime soon. Main problem is finding time and brilliance, neither of which I am overly endowed with. Damn. I do have a very strong idea about its direction. It's definitely still rooted in traditional fantasy, but I want to make it a story about environmental issues. Scary? Hell yes. But might work. Thing is, I think it's going to be one of those things where the issue is well buried in the plot, and the decision is the reader's. I hate being told what to think, especially when reading books, and I'm guessing that other people feel the same way. So it's there, waiting to be written, waiting to be born into a cruel world, etc. Maybe one day I'll finish the other few hundred...
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Psychologists
Not prone to rambling, especially out of the blue after a long time being away, but I feel I must have a quick go at the world of psychology. Or, perhaps I should say, psychologists themselves.
I'm a scientist. A proper, real life scientist. I'm doing a PhD, and I perform crazy, cutting edge experiments with polymers. Psychologists, it has to be said, do have a certain scientific bent to their occupation, so I'm not angry about them calling themselves scientists. Nor, indeed, am I upset that they seem to come up with random crap about wanting to shag your mum (cliche time, I know, but this is a rant, so I've left my principles at home). What bothers me about psychologists is their smugness. Pure, unadulterated smugness. Take, for instance, their favourite phrase - "you're exactly how I expected you to be". This refers to the amazing ability of psychologists to predict every single trait of your character from the first few moments of meeting you. I'm sure it must be real, because every single psychologist I've ever met tells me the same thing. And yet, and this is the crux of the argument, not ONE, not a single person who has ever told me this, has been able to corroborate this with a prediction in a sealed envelope, or anything of the sort. Now, I don't want it to seem to you, dear reader, that I am in any way doubting the average psychologist's ability to predict my character from the jumper I'm wearing and the way one eyebrow is invariably cocked, but it isn't exactly rigorously scientific to suggest, without corroborating evidence, that the character traits I've just displayed were all too predictable.
Oh, and another thing, they're a bunch of dog electrocuters and mouse confusers...
Not prone to rambling, especially out of the blue after a long time being away, but I feel I must have a quick go at the world of psychology. Or, perhaps I should say, psychologists themselves.
I'm a scientist. A proper, real life scientist. I'm doing a PhD, and I perform crazy, cutting edge experiments with polymers. Psychologists, it has to be said, do have a certain scientific bent to their occupation, so I'm not angry about them calling themselves scientists. Nor, indeed, am I upset that they seem to come up with random crap about wanting to shag your mum (cliche time, I know, but this is a rant, so I've left my principles at home). What bothers me about psychologists is their smugness. Pure, unadulterated smugness. Take, for instance, their favourite phrase - "you're exactly how I expected you to be". This refers to the amazing ability of psychologists to predict every single trait of your character from the first few moments of meeting you. I'm sure it must be real, because every single psychologist I've ever met tells me the same thing. And yet, and this is the crux of the argument, not ONE, not a single person who has ever told me this, has been able to corroborate this with a prediction in a sealed envelope, or anything of the sort. Now, I don't want it to seem to you, dear reader, that I am in any way doubting the average psychologist's ability to predict my character from the jumper I'm wearing and the way one eyebrow is invariably cocked, but it isn't exactly rigorously scientific to suggest, without corroborating evidence, that the character traits I've just displayed were all too predictable.
Oh, and another thing, they're a bunch of dog electrocuters and mouse confusers...
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Oh blog blog blog...
Haven't been here for a while, have I?
No worries, back now, albeit briefly. So, why? Mostly, it seems, because I have far better things to be doing, but don't particularly want to do any of them. There's also the issue of a small warning I must ask you all to heed - when placing an order at Amazon, don't think that just because they've taken your order, they'll actually be able to get what you want. I know the camera was being replaced, but if you can't get the thing, don't take the order, ok Amazon? Caused me more than a little anguish, that particular trick. No worries, though, getting a better and more expensive camera from lovely Dabs, even if they're not going to send it for about 4 years. Ok, more like 4 weeks. Hope they don't turn around and let me down too... Amazon, it has to be said, have managed to regain a very little bit of the respect I had for them by dropping the price of a book I have on pre-order, but it's not enough. It NOT ENOUGH, y'hear? Good. Glad we could sort that out.
Listening to Enema of the State by Blink182 for the first time in a long time. Just remembered I have all sorts of things that need to be done today, and I haven't done any of them. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. It's getting dark outside. Or at least it feels like it's getting dark. Shouldn't be sunset for another three hours or so, but I can feel the night coming, creeping up on me, darkness unfolding to envelop me. Run!
Haven't been here for a while, have I?
No worries, back now, albeit briefly. So, why? Mostly, it seems, because I have far better things to be doing, but don't particularly want to do any of them. There's also the issue of a small warning I must ask you all to heed - when placing an order at Amazon, don't think that just because they've taken your order, they'll actually be able to get what you want. I know the camera was being replaced, but if you can't get the thing, don't take the order, ok Amazon? Caused me more than a little anguish, that particular trick. No worries, though, getting a better and more expensive camera from lovely Dabs, even if they're not going to send it for about 4 years. Ok, more like 4 weeks. Hope they don't turn around and let me down too... Amazon, it has to be said, have managed to regain a very little bit of the respect I had for them by dropping the price of a book I have on pre-order, but it's not enough. It NOT ENOUGH, y'hear? Good. Glad we could sort that out.
Listening to Enema of the State by Blink182 for the first time in a long time. Just remembered I have all sorts of things that need to be done today, and I haven't done any of them. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. It's getting dark outside. Or at least it feels like it's getting dark. Shouldn't be sunset for another three hours or so, but I can feel the night coming, creeping up on me, darkness unfolding to envelop me. Run!
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Let's all say a big "hello!!" to Julian and his blog
My friend Julian, fellow PhD student, had never heard of blogging. I set him straight, and now he's joined the massed ranks of the blogging public. All hail the new blood, etc.
My friend Julian, fellow PhD student, had never heard of blogging. I set him straight, and now he's joined the massed ranks of the blogging public. All hail the new blood, etc.
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