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05 Sep 01:16

Here Are Some Jokes About Batman

by David Malki

WayneCorp's Bruce Wayne takes an official salary of only a penny a year…but have you SEEN that penny? It's huge! #OccupyGotham

— David Malki ! (@malki) October 8, 2011

WAREHOUSE OWNER: Oh no who will pay for my broken skylight! The rain is getting on my crates BATMAN: I broke it jumping at a clown. Sorry

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

CAFE OWNER: Some kind of rocket car tore through my patio and destroyed all my furniture! BATMAN: Listen, I was chasing a bad penguin

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

OFFICE MANAGER: The side of our building had a bat shape drawn in gasoline and then set on fire! BATMAN: I intended it to be inspiring

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

TV show about the longsuffering employees of a Gotham insurance company "I'm sorry, ma'am, your policy has an exclusion for acts of bat"

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

CONTROLLER: Unidentified aircraft squawk 4752 and ident, climb maintain 3000 for building clearance BATMAN: Negative chasing a plant lady

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

BANE: I will…break you BATMAN: Aw gimme a break BANE: haha good one BANE: that's exactly what I am moments from doing

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

GORDON: If I turn on this light a man appears on the roof SERGEANT: isn't that…weird GORDON: He brings us lots of inadmissible evidence

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

MR FREEZE: ice bucket challenge MR FREEZE: I nominate…THE PEOPLE OF GOTHAM

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

JOKER: you know how I got these scars? BATMAN: Granulation tissue progressively accumulates more fibroblasts, which lay down collagen

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

ALFRED: Will you be taking dinner in your cave again BATMAN: I found a boy at the circus ALFRED: Shall I put the kettle on

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

BATMAN: And THIS is my giant penny DICK: That doesn't make sense BATMAN: No it's just the one

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

BATMAN: Keep this kryptonite safe in case I need to kill Superman ALFRED: Superman BATMAN: (exasperated sigh) He's the FLYING ONE

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

BRUCE: Criminals are a superstitious lot. Not me, I'm a logical detective BRUCE: I will dress as the next animal that breaks my window

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

BANE: You merely adopted the dark BATMAN: More like adopted a DORK DICK: (sighs loudly) BATMAN: Amirite

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

POLICE: Look, a playing card by the victim POLICE: The five of diamonds! JOKER: (in the shadows) (patting his pockets) Ah dammit

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

RIDDLER: Riddle me this! When is a stone…not a stone? BATMAN: That was literally in Reader's Digest 3 weeks ago RIDDLER: (feigns surprise)

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

ADAM WEST BATMAN: Indeed, a team-up! Two crime-fighting heads are surely better than one! FRANK MILLER BATMAN: (runs him over with a tank)

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 27, 2014

Also many kind people such as Neil Gaiman and Joseph Gordon-Levitt have recently shared my latest Batman comic! That’s pretty neat to see!

Welcome, new readers; I have done exactly two Batman comics in eleven years, and here’s the other one. Oh and this one about Superman.

Not to say I have entirely ignored the notion of superheroes.

BONUS JOKES: SPACE WARS

BEN: A wretched hive of scum and villainy. I can't wait for this place to gentrify. Put in a coffee shop, a record store. It could be nice.

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 28, 2014

BERU: Happy birthday! LUKE: Oh…a power converter BERU: We know you like them. LUKE: (weak smile) (thinks) this isn't even the right brand

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 28, 2014

LUKE: No! That can't be! That's impossible! DARTH: (thinking) Oh no maybe he's right I mean it's a big galaxy and oh man what if he's right

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 28, 2014

LUKE: You told me Vader betrayed and murdered my father. BEN: (furiously backpedaling) Um well look I'm a ghost so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 28, 2014

EWOKS: Yub yub 3PO: I could let the masters be devoured and no jury would convict me R2: Beep boop 3PO: Oh like you haven't thought of it

— David Malki ! (@malki) August 28, 2014

BONUS BONUS JOKES:

Essential reading for the Star Wars jape enthusiast: The People’s History of Tattooine.

03 Sep 20:43

Fluffy Bunnies

by Andrew Rilstone
The Rabbits of Watership Down are rabbits. They are as rabbitty as Richard Adams can make them. Everything they do is based on real rabbit behavior. However, Mr Adams asks us to imagine -- well, not imagine, but take for granted as a scholarly fact -- that these rabbits have human intelligence, culture, language, even religion. Well no, not these rabbits -- rabbits in general, and foxes, and sea gulls. How this works we can’t question for a moment. (Could a leoporine mouth even form the syllables El-ahrairah? Is a rabbit brain big enough to develop that kind of consciousness?) It’s funny, actually, how easily our mind accepts this kind of thing. It gets you into philosophical hot water if you aren’t incredibly careful. If a rabbit or a hamster had human consciousness, then obviously vivesection would be wrong. But they don't, so it's not a good argument. I think Richard Adams develops this fallacy at some length in his later books.

Peter Rabbit is also a rabbit, possibly with a fly upon his nose. And the anthropomorphicisation has gone a lot further than it has in Watership Down. He wears clothes. His daddy smokes a pipe, forsooth. But he also lives in a hole, and steals cabbages from a farmer's garden, and if I remember correctly there is an implication that the farmer has sometimes made his relatives into pies. If Watership Down asks us to imagine a world in which rabbits have human minds, the Peter Rabbit books asks us to imagine a world in which, instead of Rabbits, there are tiny, Rabbit shaped people.

Again, we don’t have any trouble getting our heads around this weird-ass parallel universe. We don’t say for goodness sake they have culture and language and you are going to put them in a pie what kind of weirdo are you? We just take it for granted that that's a normal way of writing about rabbits.

The Hare in Aesops Fable is even less animal like than either Hazel and Fiver or Peter Rabbit.  It's not really even an animal at all. I mean, we take it for granted that tortoises and hares can communicate, and place bets, and that owls can adjudicate races, and all the birds and beasts can come and cheer them on their way. But I suppose he's not really a hare because the Hare and the Tortoise isn't really a story. It's just a thought experiment or a proverb, with the Hare meaning “fast thing” and the tortoise meaning “slow thing.”. You could do it just as well with a motorbike and a Virgin train.  

Now, the only rabbity thing about Bugs Bunny is his carrot, and that carrot is pretty much only there to be a place holder for a cigar so Bugs can be a sort of cartoon version of  Groucho Marx. He isn’t even really rabbit shaped, any more than one of those child's drawings of a cat looks anything like a cat. But we still sort of accept that he's a bunny because that's what rabbits look like in cartoons. In the days when Walt Disney still made cartoons, kids used to ask “What Kind of An Animal Is Goofy?” The answer is, well, he isn’t really any kind of animal, and it wouldn’t make any difference if he was. (I suppose he's a country bumpkin?) I think there used to be a rabbit in the Disney Mythos, but it was retconned out during the Crisis. There is a famous example of false memory syndrome in which subjects are persuaded to believe that they met Bugs Bunny at Disneyland, even though Bugs Bunny isn’t owned by Disney, or wasn’t then. But cartoons are probably a different kind of thing to prose narratives and fables and anyway, I have run out of rabbits.

Bears. Paddington Bear. Except that again, he really isn't. He wears clothes, talks English and although he causes chaos wherever he goes, its the sort of chaos that a very naughty child would cause, not the sort of chaos that would occur if a large South American carnivore got loose on and English Railway station. The only bear like thing about him is that he likes marmalade, which comes in jars, and is spread on toast, like honey, which is proverbially likes by bears, at least since Pooh.

Does anyone but me remember Mary Plain? She was a sort of proto-Paddington, a two legged bear who could talk English living in a suburban home. She did mostly did human things -- entered fancy dress competitions, joined the boy scouts, and, after the series had jumped the entirely non anthropomorphic shark, solved a mystery and get shipwrecked on a desert island populated by natives that would, if it were reprinted today, cause the PC Brigade to cancel all leave.

Now Yogi Bear, he's more like Peter Rabbit. I can see in what way he's a bear. He wears clothes and talks and can interact with the human world but he lives on a nature reserve, and steals goodies from visitors picnics. He's a human being -- Yogi Naughty Petty Thief Man -- who stands in the same relationship to the Park Ranger on the one paw and the tourists on the other (in one specific respect) as an actual bear would. (On my one visit to an American national park I was warned to hang any food out of reach of the bears or put it in a metal crate, so evidently it's a thing.) The same goes for Tom and Jerry. They are really only a cat and a mouse in so far as one does the chasing and the other does the running away. 

The least bear like of all is Rupert the Bear (everyone sing his name). He is, basically, not a bear. He isn’t even a teddy bear. He is twelve year old boy with a bear’s head; whose friends are twelve year old children with elephants heads and badgers heads. I don’t recall that he even particularly likes honey. Cartoonist Alfred Bestall said that you couldn't ever send Rupert to the seaside, because putting him in a bathing costume would force you to decide to he was furry all over. 

I never quite understood why clever men like C.S Lewis and A.A Milne and Pink Floyd were quite so keen on WInd in the Willows. I’m not sure I ever got to the end of it. I think Lewis was right about why Mr Toad had to be a toad rather than and English country gentleman, even though he’s obviously an English country gentleman and not a toad. If he was a human, he would have to have servants and employees and we’d have to at least have a hint about where his money came from. As long as he’s an animal, we can sort of skate over that. (Lewis thinks he’s both a child and an adult: a child in that food sort of just turns up and no-one asks where it came from; and adult in that he gets to choose what he wants to do and there’s no-one to tell him off.) And the shape of a toad’s face is a sort of fixed caricature of a certain kind of human. 

I don’t think that there is any reason to suppose that Owls are wise, particularly; I don’t even know if they are cleverer than other birds of prey. But they are always wise in stories because the big eyes look like we imagine a wise human ought to look. So stories about animal-shaped humans lend themselves to a kind of fable where everyone has a more or less fixed personality and it can’t really develop. (A.A Milne said that you only had to look at the toy pig and the toy donkey and the toy tiger to see their personalities -- timid and gloomy and bouncy.)

It is perfectly true that if a child behaved like Paddington Bear, he would get punished or injured or given pills. (If an adult behaved that way, he’d be arrested or put in a home.) This is not to say that you can’t do stories about naughty or accident prone children in a realistic setting, but they either have to get some sort of comeuppance, like Dennis the Menace, or they have to be devious enough to avoid it, like Just William, which introduces an element of cynicism which isn’t funny in quite the same way. But I don’t suppose that Michael Bond said to himself that he wanted to write a story about the kind of child who floods the bathroom the first time he needs a wash, but then thought it wouldn’t be that funny if an actual child did that kind of thing and then thought I know I’ll make him a bear instead. I think he started to tell a story about a bear, and the rest followed naturally. And that's what's so odd. Once we start to tell stories about bears or rabbits it somehow becomes natural that they wear duffle coats and tam o shanters and like honey and marmalade. We can’t look at an animal without anthropomorphising it.

Doesn't the trailer for the Paddington movie look appalling? Like Winnie-the-Pooh reimagined by Peter Jackson.

Anyway, I hope this clears up all the confusion. I was as surprised as anybody to find out that Hello Kitty had a personality. I assumed it was just something you stamped on notepads and teeshirts. But I don't have a problem with the recent bombshell that she's not a cat. Of course it isn’t. Anymore than Bugs Bunny is a Rabbit or Pooh is a bear.
03 Sep 18:10

PEAS

by James Ward

While Steph McGovern may be happy to use inappropriate units of measurement when talking about cheese, it is a relief to see the people at Yes Peas! are a little more cafeful with their numbers.  Yes Peas! is a pea-information website run by the British Growers Association which in turn is a trade association which “represents & promotes UK growers of horticultural crops, in particular Vegetables & Salads”.

The Yes Peas! website offers recipes (which they have admirably avoided calling “recipeas”), as well as facts and information about peas. There’s also a newsroom, but it would seem that nothing much has since January.

Despite this apparent lack of activity, Yes Peas! send out a monthly newsletter, and in the September issue, there is a little section on “peas and maths”:

There are 35,000 hectares of peas grown in the UK each year, equivalent to about 50,000 football pitches.

They go on to show their workings:

A Premier league football pitch is 7036 square meters or 0.7036 of a hectare.  Therefore, if you divide 35,000 hectares of peas by 0.7036 you get 49,733.

They then add the following:

35,000 hectares of peas produces 160,000 tonnes of frozen peas – that’s 2 billion x 80-gram portions!

Finally, here are a couple more pea facts from this month’s newsletter:

If you threaded every frozen pea produced each year in the UK onto a piece of string, you would need 3,900,000 kms of string, which would stretch from the earth to the moon and back, more than five times.

On average everyone in Britain eats nearly 9,000 peas per year.

It would take 390,096,154 of average diameter peas, to outline the British coast.

Steph McGovern, take note.

 


03 Sep 12:06

A call for a low-carb diet that embraces fat.

A call for a low-carb diet that embraces fat.
02 Sep 20:46

Writing Skills

I'd like to find a corpus of writing from children in a non-self-selected sample (e.g. handwritten letters to the president from everyone in the same teacher's 7th grade class every year)--and score the kids today versus the kids 20 years ago on various objective measures of writing quality. I've heard the idea that exposure to all this amateur peer practice is hurting us, but I'd bet on the generation that conducts the bulk of their social lives via the written word over the generation that occasionally wrote book reports and letters to grandma once a year, any day.
02 Sep 20:37

If You’re So Smart, Why Don’t You Have Your Own Plane?

by Dave

Last week a story was making the rounds about two airline passengers who got thrown off a plane following a heated dispute about seat reclining. Seat reclining on airplanes is one of those taboo subjects you should not bring up in polite company; people have strong opinions about it that they will violently defend. Forget politics and religion, you want to get the knives out, you talk about seat reclining on an airplane.

One of the responses came from this guy. I’ll not say any more about him. Go read his article and form your own opinion.

What strikes me about this debate is how well it perfectly encapsulates the current situation in America. What you have here is a zero-sum game in which one person ultimately has to crap on the other, and they’re fighting over who’s going to be in which position. At no point is it suggested that maybe nobody should have to crap on anybody. The airlines have decided to cram as many seats as possible into a plane with zero regard for comfort or even humanity. If the seats were a reasonable distance apart, the reclining would be much less of an issue, but with very little space between rows the only place for a recliner to go is into the lap of the person behind him.

So we all get puffed up and yell and demand our rights to not be the disadvantaged person, bringing in economic theorems and thought experiments and what-not, throwing water at each other and being called monsters, all in the name of trying to settle the issue of who gets to screw over who instead of saying, “Wait a minute, we’re both being screwed by the airline. They’re the ones who have created this situation and perpetuate it.”

This is America. Let the little people fight each other over what scraps are left after the ones at the top take almost all for themselves. An the “winner” of the turf war will feel tough and savvy and special even though he just got put in a “let’s you and him fight” situation by someone who couldn’t care less about him, who sees him as just another wallet to extract cash from. That guy in the New York Times article above might be the smartest dog in the junkyard, but he’s still just a dog in a junkyard.

02 Sep 20:21

Limits to Growth was right. New research shows we're nearing collapse.

Limits to Growth was right. New research shows we're nearing collapse.
02 Sep 14:17

The Big Idea: Cherie Priest

by John Scalzi
Andrew Hickey

Sharing because this sounds like something I might want to read...

You’ve heard the nursery rhyme, but do you know the real story behind Lizze Borden? Does anybody? This is the jumping off point for Cherie Priest and her novel Maplecroft, which follows the infamous Borden after the real-life events that made her notorious. Do you dare follow?

CHERIE PRIEST:

Like countless others in the last hundred years, I first heard the name “Lizzie Borden” via the jump-rope rhyme. Everyone knows it: Lizzie Borden took an axe, and gave her father forty whacks… And so forth. Whether or not she ever killed anyone is still up for grabs; she was acquitted of all charges in 1893, but that’s never stopped anyone from speculating about her parents’ murders – and once you’re canonized on the school playground, your legacy is pretty much set.

So what really happened? God only knows. Either she got away with murder, or she was falsely accused and thrown to the bloodthirsty public by an opportunistic media. Like they still say in journalism, “If it bleeds, it leads.”

There was a lot of blood in the Borden house. But that’s not The Big Idea.
The Borden murders were far more interesting, complex, and peculiar than is commonly remembered. Left out of the nursery rhyme are allegations of poisoning, an illegitimate son in search of an inheritance, and a crime scene treated like a theme park before the bodies were even cold.

And more, of course. Much, much more.

After Lizzie’s trial, she and her older sister inherited the family fortune; but rather than leave the state and start fresh someplace else, they bought a big house on the other side of town. Its name was Maplecroft, and there, they quietly lived out their days.

Except that maybe, they didn’t.

A quick google turns up a number of academic texts on the Borden case, as well as a handful of “true crime”-style popular retellings, but my novel Maplecroft isn’t about the murders. It’s about everything that happened afterward. Sort of.

The truth is, Lizzie never spoke to the press – and very little is concretely known about her life, either before or after the events that made her a household name. Oh, but there was plenty of gossip. Why, you should hear about the shenanigans that went down at Maplecroft: witchcraft! wild parties! lesbianism!

To quote the bard, two out of three ain’t bad.

The grand old house definitely saw its share of wild parties, largely at the behest of a young actress named Nance O’Neil. (Her real name was “Gertrude Lamson,” but you can hardly blame her for picking something else.) And there’s a fair measure of circumstantial evidence to suggest that she and Lizzie had a romantic relationship. There’s also plenty to imply that Lizzie’s sister Emma didn’t like it one bit, and they had a big falling out over it…but what can you do?

In short, the more I learned about Lizzie, the more I felt genuinely sorry for her. If she did kill her father and (step)mother, you have to wonder what drove her to it; and if she was innocent, she surely didn’t deserve the ensuing fallout from the media – or from the court of public opinion. So, having become quite comfortable tweaking history for my own nefarious purposes…I thought I’d make her guilty, but give her a damn good motive.

And that was The Big Idea.

I’d been itching to write a gothic horror piece for a while now, and Lizzie Borden collided with that itch, scratched the hell out of it, and gave me a framework for the story I wanted to tell.

Almost every book these days comes with a disclaimer, something like: “This is a work of fiction, and all historical places or people are used fictitiously…” Well, we should probably stick that on the front of this one, rather than inside the cover – because at its core, Maplecroft is about Lizzie Borden fighting Cthulhu with an axe. Or, if you prefer: It’s a 19th century epistolary love letter to Dracula, by way of Lovecraft.

This is the story of the aftermath – the aftermath of Lizzie’s trial, yes; but it’s also about the aftermath of a supernatural tragedy, and a gentle professor’s terrible transformation. This is about what happens when you pray to something terrible, and it hears you. It comes looking for you. And it finds you.

So after a fashion, Maplecroft is both an epilogue and a warning. It’s fiction, and any real persons are used fictitiously, of course.

But there’s truth to be found in the real life strangeness, all the same.

___ _

Maplecroft: Amazon|Barnes & Noble|IndieBound|Powell’s

Visit the author’s blog. Find her on Twitter and Facebook.


02 Sep 14:12

What’s so bad about Weird Al’s “Word Crimes”?

by Hannah

So Weird Al Yankovic is back. To completely lift the words of my brilliant friend Stoo, “you remember Weird Al, right? He was last popular around the same time as nothing at all, ever”. On Tuesday night, I watched his second video-a-day offering (following Monday’s ‘Tacky’, a daft but vaguely entertaining ditty to the tune of Pharrell’s ‘Happy’). Called ‘Word Crimes’, it’s set to the tune of omnipresent twat-anthem Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke, and is a lighthearted riff on the mistakes people make in written and spoken language. OR IS IT? (Clue: it isn’t.)

As soon as I read that blurb, I inwardly sighed. Then as I watched it, I outwardly sighed. A lot. I knew within hours it would be a viral hit with the ~liberal educated Internet crowd~ (of which I am one, I hasten to add), and was proved right when I opened Facebook this morning and several friends had shared it and sung its praises.

Don’t get me wrong, some of the wordplay is solid (rhyming “educate ya” and “nomenclature” definitely raised a smile) and god knows I’d rather listen to a less sexually predatory version of that song (“You would not use ‘it’s’ in this place” was slightly more palatable on the ears than “You the hottest bitch in this place”.) But it’s gross. It sums up everything that’s wrong with the current ~liberal educated Internet crowd’s~ habit of mobilising themselves as some kind of Language Army, taking down anybody who doesn’t conform to one particular type of English in order to cleanse the human race of morons and half-wits (read: to mutually pat each other on the back and bask in their collective superiority complex).

inb4 “Oh GOD you’re such a killjoy” – maybe I am. But this isn’t just some random video. This is going viral, will be watched by millions, and will inevitably be used for months to come by pedants to try and validate their weird obsession with making people feel bad about themselves.

English is the second most-spoken language in the world, behind Mandarin. It’s also the most-spoken second language in the world, and while totals are near-impossible to estimate, it’s probably reaching the point where almost a billion people speak some kind of English to some degree of fluency. A seventh of the population of Earth. That’s pretty cool (if you don’t think too much about the fact that it’s mostly because of colonialism/general douchebaggery that this is the state of affairs), and it’s pretty sweet that so many people can communicate with this one language. The language being spoken in so many places inevitably means it’s going to change. Language changes constantly; that’s just a fact of life, inevitable, and most definitely not negative. There’s a chance, owing to the vastness of its number of speakers, combined with the near-instant communication a huge number of us have access to and the dominance and reach of English language media, that these changes will be accelerated, and have been over the last few decades.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but society hasn’t collapsed in on itself just yet. As the English language has spread and changed; as we’ve introduced thousands of new words; as some of us have started using “was like” instead of “said” as a quotative; as people have occasionally spelt words with numbers in emails and text messages; as second person indirect pronoun “whom” has started to be used less often — the world has not spontaneously imploded or been sucked into the cavernous mouth of a hell-demon. Also, we can still communicate as effectively as ever.

And, funnily enough, hundreds of years ago when English lost its case inflection system, and the pronouns “thee” and “thou” (leaving “you” to act as both singular and plural second person signifier), and when the Great Vowel Shift caused (among other things) the word “night” to change from ‘nikt’ to ‘nayt’, we also didn’t spontaneously combust. In fact, we continued progressing to a society that now has stuff like 3D printed organs and peanut butter cup ice cream. Changes in language don’t mean that we as an English-speaking population will grind to a halt due to being unable to successfully communicate with each other. It just doesn’t. We adapt to the changes (even if that means a couple of instances of minor miscommunication, which are easily overcome) and then we carry on our merry way(s).

It’s natural to fear and reject the unfamiliar, I get that. But it’s only since the formalisation of arbitrary grammar rules and regulations that deviating from this perceived norm has resulted in pointing fingers and accusations of being “raised in a sewer”. Until the 17th Century (ish), without a formal way of printing language and very little in the way of transport, English was spoken differently in different places with no real bother. Then BAM, industrialisation. Trains! Roads! A conscious class system! At some point, those in the South East (London-based, mostly) decided that the way they spoke was the proper way. And, having the money and facilities open to them, decided to write books to that effect, books that ended up in schools and which still inform English language teaching to this day. Now, this isn’t in itself a completely terrible thing. Language teaching is good, it gives people a tool for communication, etc. etc.

BUT, these books stated that anything that deviated from this South Eastern standard was wrong. Now, it’s not like everyone outside of this area was bellowing at each other and/or shrugging their shoulders until this point, completely unable to communicate. No, they had lives and communities and workplaces and everyone got along merrily. As soon as these kind of books were published (and listened to), the language that people outside the SE of England spoke became wrong. Bad. Defective. Immediately. Through luck and social circumstance, one variety of English got picked to be the proper one, and from then on it became okay to mock, deride and ridicule anybody who deviated from that, despite the fact that their own varieties of English were equally adequate at communication. The upper classes, then (for it was these who wrote said books), had yet another way to disregard the thoughts and opinions of the lower classes, because if they couldn’t speak properly (i.e. adhering to the rules the rich folk made up), then they were barbaric and weren’t worth listening to anyway.

“But that happened hundreds of years ago, Hannah! That is sooooo 18th Century!” I know that, but the exact same kind of message is put out in these videos, and by grammar pedants like this little shit. The only reason to gloat and sneer when people deviate from a rule (that is often not relevant any more) is to get some kind of moral superiority and dismiss them as inferior. It’s founded in classism (and often these days, racism, as a lot of this bile is targeted towards non-native English speakers who, let us not forget, are fluent in at least one whole other language too and that’s pretty damn impressive doncha think?) and it’s gross. Particularly considering – in this example – the rules being upheld are ones which are fading away for the most part because they don’t serve a communicative purpose any more.

“Whom” is used less often now because not using it doesn’t directly impair the understanding of a sentence. You know what the person means anyway. In fact, if you’re pointing out a ‘mistake’, you must understand them in the first place in order to do so. People who dangle participles or use the newer, extended emphatic meaning of “literally” or use single letters to occasionally replace words are not, as Al states, “incoherent”. They’re perfectly coherent, and their communicative purpose is unimpaired – you just don’t like it, and want to make them feel bad about it.

And boy, does this song do that. “You’re a lost cause.” “You dumb mouth breather.” “Get out of the gene pool.” “That literally makes me want to smack a crowbar upside your stupid head.”

inb4 “It’s just a song, he’s using those phrases to make it rhyme and sound funny!” Oh believe me, you don’t have to delve far into the Internet to see identical comments being made by the self-proclaimed ‘grammar police’, and in conversations on the topic the sentiment remains very similar.

There’s a lot of reasons a person might not know that ‘whom’ is the indirect version of a second person interrogative pronoun. Maybe they’ve never heard it (because of how it’s dying out). Maybe they were never formally taught it, whether it was omitted from their English lessons, or they didn’t progress through the education system to the point where this is taught. Maybe they’re a second language speaker, and haven’t got to the level of fluency to easily use it. Maybe they’re dyslexic, or have another kind of language impairment. Telling any one of these people to “get out of the gene pool” is obscene. It’s demeaning and cruel, and purely to make them feel small and you feel big. Can you imagine being told that? Being hounded for not following a certain rule, even though the main function of your speech or writing (i.e. communication) was successful?

Just stop. Stop the grammar police. Stop hurling wildly hyperbolic insults at people for daring to deviate from a standard. Accept that language changes, and that it’s okay. Encourage people to learn language so we can all communicate more and easily, but don’t shit on them if their version of it is different to yours. It’s classist bullshit, and it’s so 2010.

Also, I should stress, this charming parody song includes the line “you write like a spastic”, and really, that is reason alone to throw it in the bin.

tl;dr – the English language is not a sacred thing we must uphold at all costs, and being nasty to people who deviate from a set of outdated and arbitrary rules makes you an asshole.

NB. For a less-sweary, better-articulated version of this response, you can do no better than Lauren Squires or Stan Carey, both of whom are excellent.

EDIT 23/07/13 – So some of the feedback I’ve had on this post has been amazing, and some not so positive – that’s cool, obviously, I barely agree with myself half the time so I don’t see why everyone else should! I just wanted to address a couple of points raised:

1. I spelt Weird Al’s surname incorrectly. My bad, genuinely sorry about that, have changed it now.

2. As a native speaker of British English, I reacted badly to Al’s use of the word “spastic” in the song, as over in the UK it’s a pretty horrid ableist slur. Having read up on it (thanks to an informative post here), I see the same word in US English has a far less offensive meaning, akin to ‘klutz’. I also see Al has sincerely apologised to British listeners who didn’t like it. Fair play, that one’s on me too.

2.5. 24/07/13 – Okay, I slept on this one, and a couple of comments have made me decide that, actually, my discomfort with the word still stands. Regardless of its innocuous status in US English, the word’s roots are still pretty ableist, and I think it should have been (and should be) avoided.

3. A few people have said that the song is a parody of prescriptivism and language policing itself, and that I have entirely missed the point. I’m afraid it doesn’t look like that’s the case – Al has spoken about the song, and confirms that he holds the beliefs it puts forward about ‘proper grammar’.

People that know me (or have seen the grammar-related videos that I’ve posted on my YouTube channel) don’t doubt my credentials as a grammar nerd, so it was obviously a real joy to be able to vent about some of my pet peeves in a song parody.”

Alas.

01 Sep 23:55

On the origins of "fuck", part 2: but what about the "d"?

On the origins of "fuck", part 2: but what about the "d"?
01 Sep 23:16

when titans clash

by Jack Graham
Prometheus tries to evoke the aesthetics of Alien in a way that is borderline obsessive. Even down to making sure there are cream-coloured leathery/cushiony pads on the spaceship corridor walls. Still greater attention is paid to replicating H.R. Giger's design concepts for the derelict alien ship, cockpit and pilot from the original film. The really weird thing is that, even as Prometheus deliberately and slavishly tries to evoke and/or copy the aesthetics of Alien, it completely overlays them with an entirely different, clashing aesthetic sense.

Look, why is this image so powerful?




There are, I think, a number of reasons.

Most importantly, it's because it is just explicable enough to make sense while also being inexplicable enough to unnerve.  We are plainly looking at a navigator or pilot in a cockpit.  We understand this.  We are also looking at something inhuman and estranged, something that evades any attempt on our part to relate to it directly.  The 'Space Jockey' (as it is sometimes called) is a pilot, evidently, but it is also a giant, a fossil, a mammoth, a skeleton, a statue, a cyborg, a petrified outgrowth of flesh embedded within a colossal machine.  We cannot separate the entity from the artifact.  The ribs of the creature flow outward into the cables of the chair.  The trunk of the face flows down into the workings of the mechanism.  We cannot disentangle organism from system, animal from engine.  They are fundamentally akin, interchangeable, interpenetrating, symbiotic.  This was always the intention: to suggest something that was inextricably both biological and technological.  The cockpit and the pilot are not discrete things but are conjoined to the point of identity.  They were one flesh, until the flesh peeled away.  It's entropic in both an organic and mechanical way simultaneously.  It's the ossified cadaver of a wrecked bio-machine.

It's also beautiful, but not in a straightforward way.  It's not pretty.  It's hideously, ominously, unnaturally, grotesquely beautiful.  It's beautiful in the same way as a scorpion, or the bleached skull of an ox lying in a parched gulch, or a pile of rusted flywheels that was once a graceful machine.  It has the troubling, terrible beauty of wreckage, of the predator, of the insectile, the dead, the decayed, the destroyed, the deadly.

And it's fucking scary.  It's a great big skull-faced monster in a huge black room made out of what looks like loads of bones.

Now, look at this:




This is pretty.  It's the cockpit from Alien... decorated with shimmering CGI lights and swirls and spirals and graphics and glowing planets. It's like someone stuck gold stars all over one of Goya's 'black paintings' or inserted some watercolour daffodils into a Max Ernst canvas. Well, why am I dancing around this? It's like putting pretty, computer-generated patterns all over a picture by H.R. Giger. The design and CGI rendering is perfectly nice in and of itself, but in this context it looks like a tawdry, clashing embellishment. It neutralises the uncanny effect of the setting. For all the familiarity that popular culture now has with Giger (thanks largely to Alien) his imagery remains fundamentally inscrutable. The image above plasters extremely familiar, almost routine imagery - CGI computery prettiness - over this fundamentally inscrutable image. It wouldn't be so bad if this were meant, in narrative terms, to be human technology inserted into the context of the alien ship, as with the floaty red probe things... but the display above is actually supposed to represent the technology and culture and design sense of the pilot-type aliens themselves.

This is more than just an aesthetic problem.  The technology of the beings that Shaw calls 'the Engineers' is recognisably similar to the technology of the humans as we see it in the film.  Suddenly, the mysterious and unknowable culture of the gigantic skeletal bio-mechanical thing from Alien is explained, demonstrated and shown to be easily understood in conventional futuristicky/SF terms.  The aliens have computers just like the humans.  They have holographic displays just like the humans.  They have navigation charts just like the humans.  They have cryo-beds just like the humans.  They have chairs around button-covered consoles... on which they leave their flutes!  They suddenly have doors that open and close (think about it - there's nothing like that in the derelict from the original film).  They have cargo bays.  The cockpit chair turns out to be just that - a chair in which a humanoid sits.  He didn't grow out of it.  He sat in it.  Wearing a spacesuit and a helmet.

This helmet thing is a big deal.  The skeletal face of the alien pilot, with its ossified veins, its cavernous eyes and its trunk-like snout... turns out to be a helmet, just like the head-like helmet of the aliens in Independence Day.  Like many crappy sci-fi films post-Alien, Independence Day tried to ape Giger's influential design concepts.  So ID4 had bio-mechanical stuff in it, but in a processed and banal form.  Now the Alien series reclaims its appropriated design concepts... and recycles the lazy, banal variants already used by inferior films.

And what is inside the helmet?  We get to see.  Not only is the pilot's eerie, inscrutable, alien face revealed to be a piece of perfectly explicable human-like technology, with its trunk a kind of hinged flap, but we see it removed, and beneath there is...  a guy.  An odd-looking guy, for sure, but a guy, nonetheless.

Moreover, these guys have comprehensible motives.  We may not be told why they created life on Earth and then decided to destroy it, but these aims are comprehensible in and of themselves.  The 'Engineers' can be communicated with, spoken to.  Their thought processes are apparently akin to those of humans.  It is no longer that The Company wishes to utilise the Xenomorphs (if we must call them that) as weapons... apparently they always were weapons, or outgrowths of weapons.  The Engineers created them as such, wittingly or unwittingly.  The Engineers are capable of military strategy then, along with fear, rage, the desire for revenge, and other such all-too familiar states of mind.

Again, there's nothing wrong with this in and of itself, but it is appended onto the imagery of the derelict craft and its silent, inscrutable, lonely occupant in Alien... and it represents a fundamental misprision of why those things are so interesting.  Put crudely, to explain the Space Jockey is to make it less mysterious (of course) and therefore less powerful.  It was always a Titan.  It's just that Alien allowed us to believe in the Titan by making it unknowable.  Prometheus makes the Titans less titanic by making them simply larger versions of us.
01 Sep 23:13

prometheus underground

by Jack Graham
Warning: Triggers


SEX & MONSTERS

In Prometheus, the Engineers are ancient Titans who created humanity... and, it is implied, seeded the galaxy with their DNA. There is something very noticeable about them: they are all men. Meanwhile, there is a definite vaginal look to a great many of the alien bio-weapons they created and which then subsumed them. However, I don't think its really possible to read the battle between Engineers and their bio-weapons as a battle of the sexes. The weapon creatures are also phallic and penetrative, as in previous iterations of the Alien universe. All the same, it's true that presenting the creators of life (in their own image) as exclusively dudes does imply that generative power resides in the male alone. It is enough for one Engineer to dissolve his DNA into the waters of a planet to kickstart the process that will lead to animal life (if that's how the opening scene is meant to be read). The Engineers are male but apparently sexless, capable of asexual reproduction. The deadly runaway bio-weapons, which seem hermaphroditic, look like the intrusion of sex into a male but sexless world. Sex is thus a terrifying eruption that destabilises a male utopia. The sexual nature of the weapons suggests that the Engineers - we might even be tempted to facetiously re-christen them the 'Mengineers' - find sexual reproduction to be inherently threatening. They set about devising weapons of mass destruction and what do they come up with? Biological goo that sets off a chain reaction of tentacle rape, fanged vaginas and violent monster pregnancy.

Foz Meadows at her blog Shattersnipe (which I heard about from Jon Blum) has made some apt observations about the film's dubious concentration upon highly impractical female underwear, grueling 'ladypain' and forced impregnation. She goes on to say:

Insofar as the alien attacks go, I’ll give Scott some credit for trope subversion: twice in the course of the film, male characters are violently orally penetrated – and, in the process, killed – by phallic alien tentacles. This is visually disturbing on a number of levels, but given the near universal establishment of tentacle rape as a thing that happens to women, I’m going to give him a big thumbs up for bucking the trend. That being said, what happens to Shaw is awful on just about every level imaginable.

And so it is.

One of the interesting things about the original Alien is that it is a man - Kane (John Hurt) - who is the victim of the facehugger rape and the violent birth of the phallic infant Alien. So, although the alien pregnancy also suggests infection, cancer, parasitism and other horrors attendant on life, there is clearly a way in which the original Alien is a personification of sexual violence. This violence is directed at both sexes and emerges through the violation of a man and a subsequent male pregnancy... however, the creature itself is also intensely male. It has that famously phallic head and yet another phallic symbol springs out of its mouth, this one complete with a snapping set of teeth. Even its tail is like a barbed cock which gropes Lambert (Veronica Cartwright) before killing her. Later on, when Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) is menaced by the creature in the escape shuttle, she has stripped to her underwear. This scene is the film at its most sexploitative. In many ways, it's a textbook example of lingering over needlessly-exposed female flesh. But even in this scene it seems that a trap is being set: encouraging those who are so inclined to leer... before showing them their own reflection in the creature when it reappears, languid, slowly playing with its phallic inner jaw, dripping drool/jizz, forcing Ripley to run and hide like someone stalked by a rapist.

As a man, I want to be very careful about declaring that Alien is or is not dodgy in its depiction of sexualised violence against women. If it is, then I also think there is a distinct ambiguity about it. The sexualised, phallic vileness of the Alien itself seems to have been the intention all along. If the film wallows in the sight of a half-naked woman threatened by a monster that is, essentially, an evil penis with teeth, then it also seems aware of the queasiness of what it is doing. The very obscenity of the Alien suggests an awareness of the obscenity of sexual violence... beyond what is arguably the film's more general concern about the horror of physicality itself, with all its attendant violation, infection, pain and predation.

There is something of the same horror of sex in Prometheus. Fertility seems to be the terrible mistake that the Mengineers made, the mistake they wish to erase. They made the infertile fertile (their weapon specifically does this to Shaw) and set in motion the end of their outpost world. But note how the 'fertility nuke' the Mengineers developed actually works. With men, it gets in through the mouth. The Generic Asshole Biologist with Glasses gets done in by a kind of phallic worm with a cobra hood which penetrates his suit and then dives into his mouth. Holloway inadvertently drinks some of the goo and begins to turn into a kind of rampaging mutant (we see the final stage later when Fifield turns up again). Shaw, however, is impregnated in the regular way. She is impregnated via sex - with her husband, no less! That this is a kind of rape-by-proxy committed by David (who spikes Holloway's drink with some of the black goo) doesn't change the point. The creature inside Shaw gestates in what looks like a placental sac, complete with a umbilical cord. I'm not sure if we're meant to think the squid thing was going to exit Shaw violently via the belly... but, the undulations of the entity beneath her skin notwithstanding, there's actually no reason to think it wasn't going to be born via the vagina. So, the Mengineers' weaponized sex gets into the man via an orifice that does not play a specific biological role in sexual reproduction and turns him into a beast. It enters the woman via sex itself, gestates like a baby in the uterus and may even be born vaginally rather than bursting out. I'm almost fearful to think how this system is supposed to work. Once the infected male has become a mad monster, does he go on a rape rampage? If so, I'm glad it's left undepicted and undescribed. In any case, it looks uncomfortably as though the Mengineers specifically decided to use the female as a vector in the progress of their bio-weapons. They chose to use female fertility as a part of their attack. Sex is the weapon; the female is the delivery system.


RACE & MONSTERS

The other thing about the intense un-sexual maleness of the Engineers is that it seems to suggest a monastic warrior brotherhood with fascist overtones.
Image / Reality.
The Engineers look like the camp, macho, pseudo-expressionistic and/or neoclassical fascist statues which decorated Hitler's Germany and Mussolini's Italy. They are utterly white, with blank eyes, as though made of marble. They represent a kind of aggressively male, body fascist ideal, with all their bulging muscles and rippling pectorals. Neoclassicism, as it was co-opted by fascism, reproduced the physiques of Michaelangelo's David and Adam as an actual physical ideal rather than as an emblem of human beauty, uniqueness and capability. Humanism became the worship of the allegedly biologically 'perfect', embodied in fascist ideology by the white, male, sexless warrior.

The Engineers tie into this in another way. They are like the giants of Norse myth as it was recycled by Wagner and then by later anti-Semites. There is something of Nazi mysticism about the story of the Engineers. They are the perfect giants from before history who supposedly founded all the life and culture of the human age, their chosen people being, of course, the Aryans. Vickers is a blonde ice maiden, which either implies the Aryan credentials of the Weyland family (if she is Weyland's biological daughter) or his fetish for the Aryan type as representing perfection (if she is an android of his design). David (interesting choice of name there) is also an image of superhuman white European 'perfection'. He dyes his hair blonde to seem even more Aryan and models himself on Peter O'Toole's portrayal of T.E. Lawrence in Lawrence of Arabia, a chiseled white European hero who is presented as overcoming pain and taking upon himself leadership of the Arabs. (Incidentally, this paradigm - whitey becomes the leader of the natives - recurs in popular SF. Think Paul Atreides in Dune, or Jake Sully in Avatar.)

There is yet another element of the film that ties in with this.  The concentration on language.  David studies ancient human languages, explicitly including 'Indo-European'.  His fez-wearing, English-accented holographic teacher says "...whilst this manner of articulation is attested in the Indo-European descendants as a purely paralinguistic form, it is phonemic in the ancestral form dating back 5 millenia or more....".  I'm not knowledgeable enough to know if this means anything, but it still specifically mentions Indo-European.  It is also possible that Sanskrit is explicitly mentioned or alluded to in the film.  There is some disagreement (here, for instance) most of which is well above my head.  But, in any case, David is studying Indo-European languages in an attempt to find some kind of 'root' language which will enable him to communicate with the Engineers, if they do indeed prove to be the progenitors of humanity. The implication is that the Engineers - our ancient creators or ancestors - will have bestowed language upon us. Our languages will be descended from them, just as we are... therefore, the further back into language David can go, the better his chance of finding some way of comprehending the language of the Engineers. And it works.

This is a reiteration of as aspect of the imperial ideology of Aryanism. To quote Richard Seymour in The Liberal Defence of Murder:


The Aryan idea has its origins in the heart of the British Empire. It was a result of the Company's growing control over revenue-collecting and the need to develop an understanding of the texts and languages of the colonized. Not merely a suppuration of imperialism, it became an important fact about the way the empire was organized, and eventually it was offered as the reason why the empire had come about. Essentially, it posited an Indo-European race based upon certain philological affinities between Sanskrit and the Greek and Latin languages. The thesis was that the world's populations could be divided into 'races' descended from Biblical figures - Aryan, Semitic and Tartar. The Aryan race had, it was maintained, invaded and inhabited India during the Vedic 'golden age' and formed a precocious civilization. The post-Vedic age in India had been a sustained period of degeneration: by contrast, the Aryans of Europe were in rude health. These categories not only provided an argument for empire; they also helped to cement British power with the caste system.

(Seymour's notes refer to a book called Orientalism and Race by Tony Ballantyne, which looks both illuminating and dauntingly scholarly.) Note, by the way, how Seymour refers to the East India Company as "the Company".

The concept of Aryanism later found its way into German Romantic occultism and, from thence, into Nazism. The whole idea of an Aryan 'master race' responsible for the primordial foundation of Western civilization - and just about all subsequent Western cultural achievement - is bound up with the theory that the European languages can be traced back, via commonalities with Sanskrit, etc., to a root language: Proto-Indo-European. The subsequent supposed 'degeneration' of the East as the West thrived was put down to several possible influences. In the 18th and 19th centuries, especially after upsurges of rebellion, the intellectuals of the British imperium (including the liberals, by the way) put it down to the malign influence of Islam, and this notion is a direct ancestor of modern liberal Islamophobia. In the even more delusional line of descent which culminated in Nazism, biological notions of Teutonic superiority came to the fore. The biological and culturalist variants of racism have never been as separate as some claim. And both are aspects of imperialist ideology.


TROPES & IMPLICATIONS

Now, this is really as old as the hills. In many respects, it is a slightly more elaborate version of the von Danikenism that has infected so much SF. There is a kind of Eurocentric paternal condescension built into von Danikenism. Ancient peoples, particularly in the Middle East, Africa and South America, are assumed to have been incapable of creating their own cultures and languages. This trope has been widely used in SF. In Doctor Who alone, it has appeared in 'Death to the Daleks', 'Pyramids of Mars', etc.

But it goes further. In Prometheus, the Engineers created all humanity and all human language from their own selves. This 'strong version' too has been utilised before, though possibly never quite so explicitly. In Quatermass and the Pit, we humans have race wars because we are the genetically engineered creatures of Martian insects who went in for ethnic cleansing.... but we don't speak a language descended from theirs, at least not explicitly.

In Prometheus it is not just ancient cultures that owe their technology, design sense, religion and language to aliens, it is all humanity - possibly all life in the galaxy. Taken literally, this obviates humanity's claim to have made its own history. The various revolutions of history - argicultural, urban, industrial - are simply developments towards greater and greater convergence with the culture of the creators. High technology becomes a telos, preset in our chromosomes. The impetus is the pattern within humanity that matches the Engineers. Human biological origins lead to human historical development from cave dwelling to space ships. Our Engineer DNA leads us to develop their language and their technology. The information in our genes makes us create the corresponding information in our culture. This is a kind of biological determinism (rampant in SF) that, through the issues mentioned above, ties the film to a view of human history which stems from the primal influence of godly progenitors who seem associated with patriarchy, imperialism and Aryanism. (By the way, it also explains the film's obsession with information. The star charts; the DNA sequences; the concentration on language and hieroglyphs; the way the two ships both project massive holographic displays that map out space, geography, cartography and architecture. The film depicts a stream of information flowing from the Engineers' genes all the way up to the humans' maps.)

To an extent then, Prometheus adapts an ideologically imperialist, patriarchal, sexist and racialist view of of human history and presents this as a truth. The truth underlying human biology and also, in a deterministic way, the history of human civilisation, is that all our information stems from a kind of Aryan master race who also speak Proto-Indo-European, represent camply fascistic ideas of physical perfection, seem like a monkish warrior brotherhood and look like an all-male group mortally threatened by any other gender but prepared to use rape as a weapon delivery system.

Yet it's hard to say that this makes the import of the text reactionary in a straightforward way. After all, the character of the Engineers seems to be genocidal, ruthless, cruel, sterile, entropic, capricious.... and they are also defeated by their own creations. Moreover, their ship is brought down by a black man and their last survivor (at least on their weapons planet) is outwitted by a woman. It doesn't look as though the film is asking us to worship them or admire them. And the film definitely expects us to be pleased when their plans are thwarted by those more sexually and racially diverse. (On a basic level, it's just nice to see a genre action movie where the black supporting character doesn't die in the second act.)

The Engineers are like the Eurocentric, patriarchal, white, imperial 'origin story' made flesh. They are the idea of the herrenvolk, literalised so that it may be rejected. Weyland's dying words imply that, as gods, they fall short. They have no answers, no meaning. Indeed, they seem to seek the eradication of meaning. They conceive of information - whether it be sexual reproduction or the mechanics of travel - as ways of erasure. They are an idea that seems inimical to other meanings. This inimical idea is then negated by the return of the meaning it tried to revoke and erase. This happens to them, so to speak, twice. They wish to eradicate the first meanings they created - life/civilisation on Earth and perhaps elsewhere - by creating new, deadly meaning in the form of weaponized sex... but this new meaning again turns upon them. (They are, by the way, quite reminiscent of Light - the white, male, authoritarian scientist/angel that wishes to eradicate meaning when it cannot be controlled and classified - in the Doctor Who story 'Ghost Light'.)

If the Engineers are white, male, imperial gods - and redolent of fascism, which is the ultimate syncresis of all these reactionary power principles - then it must be said that they hardly reflect well upon these principles. They are exterminators, stockpilers of biological weapons, purgers of meaning and information when it fails to meet their inscrutable and vindictive standards, etc.


GARDENERS & ENGINEERS

In Prometheus, just as in Christian mythology, we are banished by our creators to wander alone, even as everything that we are comes from them/Him. But Prometheus not only reiterates this mythology, it also does that other quintessential job of SF: it ponders the autonomous (alienated and fetishized) product.

It's no shock that SF continually tells stories which reiterate Genesis while also thinking about the alienation of humanity from the produce of their labour. Genesis is about the alienation of humanity from nature brought by the rise of agriculture, surplus and class. SF reiterates Genesis because it is the modern cultural genre that most directly addresses the unprecedented alienation brought by capitalism, modernity, industry and technology. Genesis is about the relationship between humanity and nature, altered by tools. SF is about the constantly changing and decaying and threatening relationship between humanity and the tools themselves as they careen out of our control.

Genesis is, as noted, hardly the first myth to tread this path. Prometheus brought fire to humanity. Fire is knowledge. Science. Technology. It is the first discovery, the first tool, the first weapon, the first product. In so doing, Prometheus dared to suggest not only that humanity should have knowledge, but also that humanity should have the ability to create. More than it destroys, fire transforms. It is the basis of chemistry. It reveals that matter may change its state, be split in various different states, when altered deliberately by humanity.

Prometheus is far from the first SF story to reiterate these matters. It treads directly in the footsteps of Frankenstein. Victor Frankenstein was the 'modern Prometheus' because he revealed the next stage of what may be done with matter by human hands. Frankenstein fails because he does not take social responsibility for his creation. His 'son' is the first product-monster, the first great monster in the history of European culture that is manufactured. But it is only dangerous because it is abandoned, left without care or justice. Frankenstein's monster is the foundation of SF, which is obsessed with the autonomous product that threatens its creator, the manufactured monster. It is terrifying because it is, ultimately, our responsibility and our punishment.

We humans auto-generate. God is our attempt to infer a 'first cause' in this chain of auto-generation and to spiritually imbue it. Modernity is the rising of the productive forces to an unprecedented level, in which we may produce things of unprecedented power at unprecedented speed and in unprecedented numbers. Frankenstein the book appears at the interface of

i) our awareness of ourselves as biologically generated entities,

ii) our idea of ourselves as the creations of God, and

iii) our dawning realisation that modernity - industry, science, technology - allows us to create things more powerful than us, i.e. things more powerful than our bodies or even our gods (which are themselves our creations, after all).

Personally, we all encounter the book at this interface. This is because the book was written at the moment when European civilisation reached such an interface in history.

Humanity has always been quintessentially productive. The ability of our front two feet to leave the ground and become organs of manipulation is what drove the rise of the human brain. Humans are, above all else, the animal that makes tools. Capitalist modernity thus deeply effects our view of ourselves because it revolutionizes the way we produce. The products of modernity are - simply by virtue of their greater numbers, power and speed, if nothing else - more fetishized, more alive, more able to dominate us and run out of our control. They are more able, at least potentially, to mesh with our biology. Mary Shelley saw this potential meshing in the electrode that made the dead convict twitch and clench his fist. It is also implicit in the machine that steals labour, or which sucks the labourer into its embrace, needing to be set in motion by the workers and expressing this by encircling and towering over them. Today, the intrusion into biology becomes ever more clear. We now have cameras that can relay images directly to the brain, cloned creatures, and other wetware. And there are now more ways than ever in which the worker is towered-over and encircled by the hardware and the software.

Since Frankenstein, SF has harped on these issues. SF is a litany of robots, androids, gynoids, computer sentiences, of thinking weapons, of tools that rebel, or scientific experiments that lash back upon the experimenter. Within the settings of 'space' or 'the future' - which represent the dizzying possibilities of modernity, technology and science - the human as a producer of marvels is also a producer of nightmares than cannot be controlled. The line between the producer and the artifact is always being attacked, if only by some new technical innovation. This is the real reason why the robots attack us. This is why so many of the artifacts claim parity with humanity and demand this parity be accepted... and we're lucky if parity is all they want. Also, in SF humans seem to seek unity and merging with the machine, with its uncontrollable power. The machine seems alive; the living thing tends towards the mechanical. The boundry line between the territories is heavily disputed. Like any such border, there are wars over it.

Beyond its Freudian dimensions, Alien ponders these issues covertly.  Its ancient spacefaring aliens (the ones that created the derelict ship) seem inextricably both biology and technology, their pilot looking like an extrusion of beast and engine that has grown within a ship of bones and bulges and arterial corridors and vast hot stomachs in which parasites have laid their eggs.  The thing that is born from Kane's chest is a thing of tendons and pulleys, veins and cables, phallic symbols and skin criss-crossed with what look like the outlines of circuits.  What people often forget is that the 'Xenomorphs' live up to their assigned name.  Their shape morphs to resemble the 'other' in which they grow.  The Alien in the first film has taken on the bio-mechanical nature of the pilot on the crashed ship, and it has also taken on the humanoid size and shape of Kane.  The machine has penetrated the DNA and is now biologically heritable as a trait.  The 'Xenomorph' is the terrifying vehicle/product of this penetration.  And don't forget Ash, with his android-madness apparently triggered by resentment and frustrated sexual hatred, his injuries dripping hydraulic fluid that looks like milk or semen, his synthetic innards looking like white and blue plastic intestines.

Prometheus ponders the same issues overtly.  Just as Frankenstein displaced God by doing what God does, so the Engineers displace God by being what He is supposed to be.  But they also displace Darwinism, at least in the opinion of the biologist.  And they displace Frankenstein again because, by having created us artificially, they trivialize the achievement of Weyland in having made David.  They even displace Tyrell in Blade Runner and the crisis of simulation that his simulacra have triggered.  The simulacrum becomes nothing of the kind when the creator of the simulacra proves to be as engineered a thing as his simulation.  Deckard may have had ambiguous dreams about unicorns but Weyland knows, unambiguously, that he is as much a manufactured entity as David.  This state of having been manufactured is his new normality.  In this state of affairs, who cares that the simulacrum is indistinguishable?  The internal distinction that makes this collapse of distinctions significant has been neutralised.  Just as Natural Selection is overthrown by the revelation that all life is a product of technological engineering, so is Artificial Creation.  You can engineer life at all levels.  Creation dissipates.  The Engineers have manufactured micro-organisms and macro-organisms.  Microbes in the goo, all the way up to giant squids.  They have manufactured not only life but life-cycles.

Of course, these biological manufactoids get 'out of control'.  Creations always do in these tales.  That story goes back to Genesis and before.  Long before.  As noted, SF has continually retold these ancient stories as a way of grappling with the modern era of technological mass-production.  In Frankenstein, the process turns runaway because it is abandoned.  In The Island of Dr Moreau, the process turns runaway even though, possibly even because, it has not been abandoned.  As China Mieville puts it, Frankenstein says that we are failing the Enlightenment and Moreau says that the Enlightenment has failed.

The project of modernity is unstable, uncontrollable, dangerous because even the best efforts to control it founder on the autonomy of the product.  What we might, in political terms, characterise as Mary Shelley's 'reformist' project - drawn from her situation amidst Wollstonecraft (her dead mother, present in her life as stories and texts), Godwin (her father) and Percy Shelley (her husband) - is to nuture and care for the product so that it becomes socially responsible, an agent of justice rather than one of horror.  Frankenstein is her prescient caution of what will ensue if this is not done.  The product will annihilate us.  Mieville says that Frankenstein and Moreau mark opposite ends of the trajectory of Fabianism, mapped out in advance.  Moreau is the despairing terminus of Fabianism, written before Wells joined the Fabians.  Wells says (without knowing it) that, contra Shelley, the 'reformist' project to nurture and care for modernity is doomed to failure because the product will not be controlled, even with the best efforts.  The autonomous product - which is what industry and capital and the fetishized commodity look like in SF - is too much for us to control.

David in Prometheus is, yet again, the autonomous product.  At first, he seems tame because of his position.  He's been subject to a stringent attempt to integrate him into Weyland's Western, capitalist, patriarchal hierarchy.  Like Ash and Bishop, David is a white male.  Unlike those untrustworthy agents, he has been fashioned as an heir.  Weyland shows him preference over his daughter (if she is a biological daughter).  David is "the closest thing" Weyland has "to a son".  The daughter doesn't count.  It's like Dombey, forgetting Florence and putting "only child" on Paul's tombstone.  But still David moves beyond control.  On the contrary, he is in control of everyone else, all the way through the film.  The story happens because of David's agency and actions.  He is evidently not working for Weyland.  Little he does directly serves Weyland's interests.  When he finally does serve Weyland, he gets the old man killed.  How are we - or anyone - to know what David says to the Engineer before the Engineer kills Weyland with David's severed head?  David is unsurprised by Weyland's dying declaration.  David knew better than to expect answers from a manufacturer-god who has been attacked by his own autonomous product.

Prometheus makes the gods themselves into Engineers. Their name itself appropriates the tool, manufacture, industry, technology. It makes production into our master. We become the object of production not the subject. It expresses alienation. We do not make the engines. We are the engines. The engines we do make (David) are therefore the products of products, made because we were made to make them. Our evolution, our social and agricultural history, become products of alien engineering, made by us because we are machines designed to make them.

When we become the autonomous product (as we do in Prometheus), we become as alienated from our manufacturers as any commodity. But that isn't necessarily bad. Why should we care that something is 'out of control'? Whose control? And, as noted, in Prometheus our alien/ated manufacturers are Eurocentric gods. They are Aryan gods. Fascist myths come alive. Patriarchs and warrior elites. It is as though the problems identified in Frankenstein and Dr Moreau have finally been blamed on somebody. Should they be in control?

Is it conceivable - I ask this tentatively - that, in Prometheus, Hollywood has accidentally created a parable about the need for the alienated to revolt against the alien/ating gods of the era of technology? To reject a power that is conceptualised as the ultimate in white, male, imperialist, theocracy? To reject a power that is, furthermore, a personification of the alienation of humans from their ability to freely produce themselves, their lives, their sexuality, their language and their culture?

These are not profundities that were deliberately crafted into the script of this massively expensive bit of commercial entertainment. They are complexities, intimations and ironies that may be teased out of the text and willfully construed because the text stands as a garbled synthesis of many of the tropes of SF, a genre that has been pondering the issues of modernity for so long.

The best way of looking at it is to say that the film Prometheus itself is an autonomous product that seems to have partially and furtively escaped the control of its reactionary manufacturers.

But then, don't they all?



EDIT:  In the original version of this article, I wrongly used the term 'Caucasian' as a synonym for 'white' and/or 'European'.  I have amended this.  JG, 4/4/14
01 Sep 18:07

The Floating Library

by Passive Guy

From The Floating Library:

Here in Minnesota we live in the land of 10,000 lakes. In all seasons locals flock to the water to recreate and socialize. Yet, long days at the beach or trips in a canoe rarely involve the book arts.

The Floating Library is an experimental public art project that introduces the creative genre of artists’ books and printed matter to people recreating on an urban lake.

A custom made raft designed by architect Molly Reichert features bookshelves built to hold printed matter for perusal and check out on the water. Patrons in canoes, kayaks, paddle boards, skiffs, rowboats, or even inner tubes are invited to paddle up to the Library and browse the shelves from inside their watercraft. Protective covers on the shelves do their best to keep materials dry.

. . . .

The materials featured at the Floating Library are books and other printed matter made by artists. What does that mean? It means you’ll find treasures ranging in form from photocopied zines to letterpress printed pamphlets to hand-stitched bindings to commercially printed volumes to objects that look more like sculptures than books. Some of them are made to last forever, some will fade and tear with time, some are designed for the unique environment of a lake-based library.

. . . .

Despite some logistical snags and a downpour, the first weekend of the Floating Library went off fairly well.

On the logistical side of things, I made a public art mistake of assuming that permission to tie up to the swimming area buoy granted to me last year by a teenaged summer employee of the parks system would stand this year. Not so. After being alternatively tied up to a weedy submerged dock for part of the afternoon, we finally moved into open waters for better visibility. Luckily the wind blew us in the right direction to find the Library’s overnight docking spot. On Sunday we brought an anchor.

On the rain side of things, we learned that the Library’s rain plan is top notch. We got soaking wet but all the books stayed safe and dry in their plastic tubs.

Due to the rain, the patronage of the Library was slow overall, but we did greet several unexpecting boaters and checked out a few books.

Link to the rest, with photos, at The Floating Library

01 Sep 17:04

The Dilbert Strip for 2014-09-01

01 Sep 15:12

Book Review and Highlights: Quantum Computing Since Democritus

by Scott Alexander

People sometimes confuse me with Scott Aaronson because of our similar-sounding names. I encourage this, because Scott Aaronson is awesome and it can only improve my reputation to be confused with him.

But in the end, I am not Scott Aaronson. I did not write Quantum Computing Since Democritus. To be honest, I wasn’t really even able to understand Quantum Computing Since Democritus. I knew I was in for trouble when it compared itself to The Elegant Universe in the foreword, since I wasn’t able to get through more than a few chapters of that one. I dutifully tried to do the first couple of math problems Democritus set for me, and I even got a couple of them right. But eventually I realized that if I wanted to read Democritus the way it was supposed to be read, with full or even decent understanding, it would be a multi-year project, a page a day or worse, with my gains fading away a few days after I made them into a cloud of similar-looking formulae and three-letter abbreviations.

It left me depressed. I’ve said before that my lack of math talent is one of my biggest regrets in life, and here was this book that really made you understand what it must feel like to be on the cutting edge of math, proving new theorems and drawing new connections and adding to the same structure of elegant knowledge begun by Pythagoras and Archimedes and expanded by Gauss, Einstein, Turing, et cetera. All I could do was remember my own post on burdens, remind myself that I was on record as saying that sometimes the IQ waterline in a certain area advances beyond your ability to contribute and that’s nothing to feel guilty about.

I did finish the book. But – well, imagine a book of geography. It lists all the countries of the world and their capitals, and is meant to be so comprehensive that a reader could use it to plot the most efficient journey from Timbuktu to Kalamazoo, taking into account tolls, weather, and levels of infrastructure development along the way.

And imagine a very dumb person reading that book, unable to really absorb any of the facts, but at least understanding that the world is a place with land and ocean, and the ocean is very big and blue in color, and most of the countries and cities are on the part with the land.

That is the level at which I understood Quantum Computing Since Democritus. I didn’t get as much as was in it, but more than nothing.

I think the biggest thing I got was – I had always thought of the physicists’ God as a basically benevolent guy who fine tunes constants to create a world capable of both astounding complexity and underlying simplicity.

The vision I got from Democritus was of a God who was single-mindedly obsessed with enforcing a couple of rules about certain types of information you are not allowed to have under any circumstances. Some of these rules I’d already known about. You can’t have information from outside your light cone. You can’t have information about the speed and position of a particle at the same time. Others I hadn’t thought about as much until reading Democritus. Information about when a Turing machine will halt. Information about whether certain formal systems are consistent. Precise information about the quantum state of a particle. The reason God hasn’t solved world poverty yet is that He is pacing about feverishly worried that someone, somewhere, is going to be able to measure the quantum state of a particle too precisely, and dreaming up new and increasingly bizarre ways He can prevent that from happening.

Aaronson goes one level deeper than most of the other popular science writers I know and speculates on why the laws of physics are the way they are. Sometimes this is the elegance and complexity route – in his chapter on quantum physics, he argues that quantum probabilities are the squares of amplitudes because if the laws of physics were any other way – the fourth power of amplitudes, or whatever – it would fail to preserve certain useful mathematical properties. But in other cases, it’s back to Obsessive God – the laws of physics are carefully designed to preserve the rules about what information you are and aren’t allowed to have.

Aaronson tries to tie his own specialty, computational complexity theory, into all of this. It’s hard for me to judge how successful he is. The few times he tries to tie it into areas of philosophy I know something about – like free will – I’m not too impressed. But I could be misunderstanding him.

But once again, you get the feeling that computational complexity is about what information God will and won’t let you have. It’s a little less absolute – more “you can’t have this information without doing the full amount of work” rather than a simple no – but it seems like the same principle. There are a bunch of situations in the book where Aaronson takes something we don’t really know that much about and says it has to be a certain way, because if it were any other way, it could be used to solve NP problems in polynomial time, and there’s no way God’s going to let us do that.

Aaronson ties it all together in a very interesting way – with his story of how Australian Actresses Are Plagiarizing My Quantum Mechanics Lectures To Sell Printers. He tells the story of how a printer company wanted to make a pun on “more intelligent model of printer”, so they made a commercial with intelligent models in the form of fashion models talking about quantum mechanics. And the particular quantum mechanics statement they made was a plagiarized quote from a Scott Aaronson lecture. And upon thinking about it, Aaronson decided that the quote they had chosen at random was in fact the thesis statement that tied together everything he believed and was working on. The model had said:

But if quantum mechanics isn’t physics in the usual sense — if it’s not about matter, or energy, or waves, or particles — then what is it about? From my perspective, it’s about information and probabilities and observables, and how they relate to each other.

That seems like as good a summary as any of Democritus, and a pretty good description of what I got out of it. I may not be as smart as Scott Aaronson, but on my good days I am right up there with Australian fashion models.

A list of passages I highlighted in my copy for being interesting, funny, or enlightening:

Can we prove there’s no program to solve the halting problem? This is what Turing does. His key idea is not even to try to analyze the internal dynamics of such a program, supposing it existed. Instead he simply says, suppose by way of contradiction that such a program P exists. Then we can modify P to produce a new program P’ that does the following. Given another program Q as its input, P’:

1) Runs forever if Q halts given its own code as input, or
2) Halts if Q runs forever given its own code as input

Now we just feed P’ its own code as input. By the conditions above, P’ will run forever if it halts, or halt if it runs forever. Therefore, P’ – and by implication P – can’t have existed in the first place.

I…I suddenly understand what the halting problem is. And there is a short proof of it that makes total sense to me. This is a completely new experience.

Oracles were apparently first studied by Turing, in his 1938 PhD thesis. Obviously anyone who could write a whole thesis about these fictitious entities would have to be an extremely pure theorist, someone who wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything relevant. This was certainly true in Turing’s case – indeed, he spent the years after his PhD, from 1939 to 1943, studying certain abstruse symmetry transformations in a 26 letter alphabet

ಠ_ಠ

You can look at Deep Blue, the Robbins conjecture, Google, most recently Watson – and say that’s not really AI. That’s just massive search, helped along by clever programming. Now this kind of talk drives AI researchers up a wall. They say: if you told someone in the 1960s that in 30 years we’d be able to beat the world grandmaster at chess, and asked if that would count as AI, they’d say of course it’s AI. But now that we know how to do it, it’s no longer AI – it’s just search.

The third thing that annoys me about the Chinese Room argument is the way it gets so much mileage from a possibly misleading choice of imagery, or, one might say, by trying to sidestep the entire issue of computational complexity purely through clever framing. We’re invited to imagine someone pushing around slips of paper with zero understanding or insight, much like the doofus freshmen who write (a + b)^2 = a^2 + b^2 on their math tests. But how many slips of paper are we talking about! How big would the rule book have to be, and how quickly would you have to consult it, to carry out an intelligent Chinese conversation in anything resembling real time? If each page of the rule book corresponded to one neuron of a native speaker’s brain, then probably we’d be talking about a “rule book” at leas the size of the Earth, its pages searchable by a swarm of robots traveling at close to the speed of light. When you put it that way, maybe it’s not so hard to imagine this enormous Chinese-speaking entity that we’ve brought into being might have something we’d be prepared to call understanding or insight.

This is a really clever counterargument to Chinese Room I’d never heard before. Philosophers are so good at pure qualitative distinctions that it’s easy to slip the difference between “guy in a room” and “planet being processed by lightspeed robots” under the rug.

Many people’s anti-robot animus is probably a combination of two ingredients – the directly experienced certainty that they’re conscious – that they perceive sounds, colors, etc – and the belief that if they were just a computation, then they could not be conscious in this way. For people who think this way, granting consciousness to a robot seems strangely equivalent to denying that one is conscious oneself.

This is actually a pretty deep way of looking at it.

My contention in this chapter is that quantum mechanics is what you would inevitably come up with if you started from probability theory, and then said, let’s try to generalize it so that the numbers we used to call “probabilities” can be negative numbers. As such, the theory could have been invented by mathematicians in the nineteenth century without any input from experiment. It wasn’t, but it could have been. And yet, with all the structures mathematicians studied, none of them came up with quantum mechanics until experiment forced it on them.

Aaronson’s explanation of quantum mechanics is a lot like Eliezer’s explanation of quantum mechanics, in that they both start by saying that the famous counterintuitiveness of the subject is partly because people choose to teach it in a backwards way in order to mirror the historical progress of understanding. I’m sure Eliezer mentioned it many times, but I didn’t really get the understanding of amplitudes as potentially negative probability-type-things until I read Aaronson.

And that’s a perfect illustration of why experiments are necessary in the first place! More often than not, the only reason we need experiments is that we’re not smart enough. After the experiment has been done, if we’ve learned anything worth knowing at all, then we hope we’ve learned why the experiment wasn’t necessary to begin with – why it wouldn’t have made sense for the universe to be any other way. But we’re too dumb to figure it out ourselves

Compare: Einstein’s Arrogance, Negative Creativity.

Quantum mechanics does offer a way out [the philosophical puzzle about whether you "survive" a teleportation where a machine scans you on an atomic level, radios the data to Mars, another machine on Mars makes an atom-for-atom copy of you, and then the original is destroyed]. Suppose some of the information that made you you was actually quantum information. Then, even if you were a thoroughgoing materialist, you could still have an excellent reason not to use the teleportation machine – because, as a consequence of the No-Cloning Theorem, no such machine could possibly work as claimed

This is fighting the hypothetical a little, but maybe in a productive way.

[Bayesianism] is one way to do it, but computational learning theory tells us that it’s not the only way. You don’t need to start out with an assumption about a probability distribution over the hypothesis. You can make a worst-case assumption about the hypothesis and then just say that you’d like to learn any hypothesis in the concept class, for any sample distribution, with high probability over the choice of samples. In other words, you can trade the Bayesians’ probability distribution over hypotheses for a probability distribution over sample data.

I hear a bunch of people telling me Bayesianism isn’t everything, it’s the only thing – and another bunch of people telling me it’s one useful tool in an entire bag of them. I didn’t understand enough of the book’s chapter on computational learning to gain too much insight here, but I will tick off one more name as being on the “one useful tool” side. Also, it makes me angry that Scott Aaronson knows so much about computational learning theory. He already knows lots of complicated stuff about computers, quantum physics, set theory, and philosophy. Part of me wants to get angry: WHY IS ONE PERSON ALLOWED TO BE SO SMART? But I guess it’s more like how I know more than average about history, literature, geography, etc. I guess if you have high math ability and some intellectual curiosity, you end up able to plug it into everything pretty effortlessly. Don’t care though. Still jealous.

Imagine there’s a very large population of people in the world, and that there’s a madman. What the madman does is, he kidnaps ten people and puts them in a room. He then throws a pair of dice. If the dice land snake-eyes (two ones) then he murders everyone in the room. If the dice do not land snake-eyes, then he releases everyone, then kidnaps 100 new people. He now sodes the same thing: he rolls two dice; if they land snake-eyes, he kills everyone, and if they don’t land snake-eyes, then he releases them and kidnaps 1000 people. He keeps doing this until he gets snake-eyes, at which point he’s done. So now, imagine that you’ve been kidnapped. Codnitioned on that fact, how likely is it that you’re going to die? One answer is that the dice have a 1/36 chance of landing snake eyes, so you should only be a “little bit” worried (considering). A second reflection you could make is to consider, of people who enter the room, what the fraction is of people who ever get out. About 8/9 of the people who ever go into the room will die.

This interested me because it is equivalent to the Anthropic Doomsday conjecture and I’d never heard this phrasing of it before.

Finally, if we want to combine the anthropic computation idea with the Doomsday Argument, then there’s the Adam and Eve puzzle. Suppose Adam and Eve are the first two observers, and that they’d like to solve an instance of an NP-complete problem, say, 3-SAT. To do so, they pick a random assignment, and form a very clear intention beforehand that if the assignment happens to be satisfying, they won’t have any kids, whereas if the assignment is not satisfying, then they will go forth and multiply. Now let’s assume SSA. Then, conditioned on having chosen an unsatisfying assignment, how likely is it that they would be an Adam and Eve in the first place, as opposed to one of the vast number of future observers? Therefore, conditioned upon the fact that they are the first two observers, the SSA predicts that, with overwhelming probability, they will pick a satisfying assignment.

And the Lord saw Eve and said “What are you doing?”. And Eve said “I am forming an intention not to reproduce if I generate a solution to an NP complete problem, as part of an experiment in anthropic computation”. And the Lord asked “Who told you this?” And Eve said “It was the serpent who bade me compute, for he told me if I did this I would be as God, knowing subgraph isomorphism and 3SAT.” Then the Lord cast them forth from the Garden, because He was Information Theoretic God and preventing people from screwing with complexity classes is like His entire shtick.

I like to engage skeptics for several reasons. First of all, because I like arguing. Second, often I find that the best way to come up with new results is to find someone who’s saying something that seems clearly, manifestly wrong to me, and then try to think of counterarguments. Wrong claims are a fertile source of research ideas.

I said something almost exactly the same on Facebook a few days ago when Brienne asked how to generate good ideas.

There’s a joke about a planet full of people who believe in anti-induction: if the sun has risen every day in the past, then today, we should expect that it won’t. As a result, these people are all starving and living in poverty. Someone visits the planet and tells them, “Hey, why are you still using this anti-induction philosophy? You’re living in horrible poverty!” They answer, “Well, it never worked before.”

ಠ_ಠ


01 Sep 14:59

Notes from “The Inequality Inefficiency”

by the infamous Brad

The odds are good, but the goods are odd? Men’s vs women’s experience in polyamory.

(Author’s note: Yes, this is a wall of text. There is a “too long, didn’t read” summary at the end.)

I should say, up front, that it normally is harder than pulling teeth to get me to go to a workshop on polyamory. I’ve known I was polyamorous longer than I’ve known the word; it took a science fiction author to explain to me, even in part, what jealousy was. Workshops are for people who have problems. Whenever people ask me to host a workshop, or to come to a workshop, I remind them of Dean Martin’s old joke, “I’m not an alcoholic, I’m a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings.”

But St. Louis’s increasingly-famous sex-positive coffee house, Shameless Grounds, hosted a two hour workshop with a family therapist who handles a way-disproportionate number of poly families, because she’s one of the only therapists in the region who isn’t judgmental towards polyamory, who doesn’t assume, when a poly family comes in, that the first thing that they need to do is give up polyamory. And her announced topic sounded interesting to me, and like one I have some strong opinions about: inequality of opportunity, for men, in polyamory.

The attendance was light; it was on a Sunday afternoon during Labor Day weekend, and it had been rescheduled on short enough notice that I know at least one person who couldn’t switch their schedule and there were probably more. Interestingly, even it was advertised as primarily for men and to address men’s problems with inequality in polyamory (but with women welcome as long as they understood that it wasn’t going to be primarily about them), there were slightly more women than men in attendance. And it had one more problem, an interesting one:

It was clear from the beginning that we, the audience, were frustrating the presenter. And pretty soon, it was clear why: the men in this particular audience had inequality problems that we wanted to discuss, including ones that affect both genders in negative ways. But she kept trying to quickly address points and move the conversation on, it was clear that there was one particular problem that she came ready to address, and determined to address, and it was clearly frustrating her that it wasn’t these men’s problem. Funnier yet: when she did bring it up, only two people in the audience said that they had that problem, and one of them was a woman. In fact, it seems to me that when she finally did come out and actually say what it was she wanted to talk with us about (an hour into a two hour workshop), it seemed to me (and still does) that she was conflating two somewhat unrelated problems, but she insisted that they are the same problem.

But because she was trying to be a good therapist and ask us what our problems were instead of telling us what our problems were, because she was being subtle and somewhat non-directive, when she opened the discussion, she opened it with what seemed to her to be a truism: obviously it is easier for women to find dates than men. I do not think that she was even vaguely prepared for the amount of push-back she got on this assertion.

The first piece of push-back she got was from me, and from two other members of the audience, who challenged her stats in one minor but important way: if you eliminate from the list of “people seeking partners” the people who are looking for one-time hook-up casual sex, suddenly the inequality of opportunity looks a lot less extreme. Pushed on that, she did back down a little, while still insisting that it was a problem, for reasons she wouldn’t explain at all until way later in the discussion.

Breaking News: Attractive Men and Women Get More Dates

Next, one of the triads in the audience had a member who did bring up exactly exactly the problem she wanted to talk about, one partner who was getting jealous, and depressed, over how many more dating opportunities her other two partners got. It was, in fact, a m/f/f triad. It wasn’t the guy who was complaining of being unable to find a date. It was, however, the member who was most overweight. Before I’d even heard from her, though, I had brought up at least three guys that I know, in the local poly community, who get at least as many offers as the women in their lives do—and what they all three have in common is that they’re both sensitive people who are also slender and conventionally attractive.

That turned into a surprisingly sensitive and unheated discussion of what attractiveness even is. It was made less contentious pretty rapidly when it turned out that we all had a pretty congruous definition of attractiveness: the combination of physical appearance and emotional intelligence. The physical appearance angle seemed to make people uncomfortable (or at least that was my impression, maybe I’m being unfair). So it got hand-waved pretty quickly, leaving me regretting that I didn’t get to bring up one famous poly advice columnist’s interesting observation that she almost never ran into complaints about being unable to get a date from anyone who flosses daily.

But at least some of us (admittedly, myself included) did get to bring up, and get some validation on the fact, that it’s not all that surprising that in most couples, it’s the partner who puts more hours of work into fitness, diet, personal style, and other appearance issues who gets more offers, and nobody disputed the observation that pressure to do personal-appearance work is still pretty gendered.

But no, what most people in the audience wanted to talk about at the most length, under the subject of attractiveness, was emotional intelligence: in particular, there was way more agreement than I was expecting that by comparison to most women, most men suck at emotional intelligence, defined (for this purpose) as sensitivity to the other person’s non-verbal and other emotional signals, skill at expressing emotion, and willingness to engage in emotional communication. For all that people wanted to talk about it, though, we spent a lot of time agreeing with each other on the basic parts of emotional intelligence that men in general most need to work on. We need to check our privilege and not try to steer conversations to what we want to talk about. We need to spend less time talking and more time deliberately eliciting comment from women who entirely fairly assume that most men don’t want to hear from them; women are conditioned from an early age to seek permission to speak, and men are conditioned from an early age to speak over them. And we need to get over or push through our conditioning that says that expressing emotion is efeminate, and will therefore cause us to be perceived as unmanly.

Apparently, Compersion is Pretty Rare

Once we had beaten that dead horse into the ground, at length, we all sat for a while and looked at the presenter, and she looked back at us. There was clearly some problem that she wanted to talk about, and she kept asking us open-ended questions trying to get someone to admit to having whatever problem that was. Finally, she got frustrated enough with her audience to do what she maybe should have done an hour earlier: tell us what the vague topic description on the coffeehouse calendar page meant to her, what it was that she came prepared to discuss.

As I said earlier, the presenter is a family therapist. She finally exasperatedly said that in her practice, as the therapist who sees most of the polyamorous couples and families in the St. Louis area who are seeking therapy or counseling, one problem makes up over half of her practice:

  • Previously-monogamous heterosexual couple opens up their relationship.
  • Woman gets a lot more offers for casual sex than the man gets.
  • Man feels inadequate and unattractive by comparison.
  • Man wishes there was some polite way to ask woman to have fewer partners until he catches up.

And she pushed us, and I mean that I feel like she pushed us hard, to admit that this was the problem we all came there to talk about.

Because she pushed us hard to admit any problem that even vaguely resembled this, she did get one man to admit that yes, his wife gets way more offers for casual sex than he does. Since she’s not looking for casual sex, this is no big deal to either of them. But, he continued, she has had one or two more romantic, emotional relationships than he has since they opened up the relationship, and, put on the spot, he admitted that he occasionally wondered if that meant that he was less attractive than his wife.

But then he pushed back, saying that on the other hand, he had done the math, and that she was also a lot more available for romantic relationships than he was, that because of the way his life was going (and he didn’t go into detail) that the extra romantic relationships were happening because she had more time for them, and more energy for them, and most importantly to them they weren’t actually interfering with much if any of the time he would have been spending with her, or the attention he was getting from her, irrespective of whether she was in another relationship or not. So he was pretty determined not to let it bother him.

The therapist really didn’t like that answer. She refused to accept that he really meant that, gave us a long rant about how the polyamory community pressures us to pretend to be more enlightened than we are, that nobody is really okay with a situation like that. But as she went around the room, trying to elicit more men’s confessions that we supposedly feel threatened by women dating other men when we don’t have a date lined up, the audience mostly just wasn’t having it. (I mentioned this to a friend afterwards who suggested that maybe families who end up in couples therapy or family therapy have different problems than people who don’t.)

But the closest the therapist got to agreement with her was that she did eventually get one man, and the woman who had started early in the workshop complaining about the fact that both her male partner and her female partner got more dates than her, to admit that what they seek from dating is an ill-defined feeling of “validation,” and that they did wish that they were getting as much of that as their partners were. In the half an hour, more or less, that the therapist was pushing us all on this, the conversation between these two, and the therapist, about what “validation” meant to them finally gave me the first hook on which to hang the beginnings of an understanding of a problem I’ve never had.

You see, I pretty visibly checked out of this part of the conversation about 10 or 15 minutes into that half an hour. And after everybody else had said their piece, the therapist came back around to me and challenged me to admit that I had these feelings, too. And I said to her that I had checked out of the conversation because the last 20 minutes or more of the conversation was in Urdu, completely incomprehensible to me. There has never been a day in my life that I wanted someone to be less happy than they were because it bothered me that they were happier than I was; if you’re happier than I am, my reaction is consistently, “thank god one of us is.” If you have more opportunities to get what you want out of life, good, go for it; I would hate myself if I asked you to turn down opportunities to be happy because it’s unfair to me that I don’t have as many opportunities. (Left unsaid: if, in fact, it is even unfair, and given my limitations, it probably isn’t.)

I was completely surprised and completely taken aback as to how hard she flipped out on me. In a loud, angry, and perhaps even insincere tone of voice she said, “Congratulations. I’ve heard that there are natural poly’s out there. You’re the first one I’ve ever met. So let’s go back to talking about problems that everybody else has.”

“What Are You Trying to Get Validated?”

And so they did, including yet more encouragement to the two people who’d both used the term “validation” to describe what it was that they were missing from their lives, who had both used the term “validation” to describe what it was that their partners got more of. The therapist kept asking, and not getting an especially coherent answer to, the question, “But what is it that you are trying to get validated?” And the way in which they talked about it may have finally given me my first understanding of the source of a lot of dysfunction I’ve seen in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships: a lot of jealousy, and a lot of anger, and a lot of dishonesty crops up when one partner feels a lot less attractive than the other.

It’s not necessarily the time or the attention or the intimacy that they’re reacting to, it’s the fear that if they’re less attractive than their partner, then someone more attractive will come along (if they haven’t already) and then they won’t be able to compete, at all, for attention, won’t be able to keep any part of the relationship. But more than that, and this is what was finally clear to me, no matter how much they laugh off the unwanted sexual advances that their partners get, no matter how reassured they are that they’re not going to be abandoned, they can’t get over feeling insulted.

Me? I don’t get insulted by comparisons. You tell me that someone else is more attractive than me, I’m going to say one of two things, “Yeah, I see what you mean,” or “well, I don’t see what you mean, but that’s a matter of taste.” Some people call that low self esteem. (Given that I equally often get accused of arrogance, I call it a nuanced appreciation of what I have to offer, both positive and negative. Feel free to disagree with me, everybody does. And you’re all wrong.)

The therapist then gave people in the room what she seems to be her standard advice to couples in such a situation: if one of your partners is feeling insecure or unattractive because you get more dates, maybe you need to accommodate that and go on fewer dates until they catch up. (This is poly-friendly relationship advice? I was stunned. And appalled.)

The Men Hate OKCupid and Craigslist. The Women Don’t Get It.

The therapist took the end of that conversation as an opportunity to segue back to a topic that she, and other women in the audience, wanted to engage us men on: her feeling that men could solve their problem with feeling unattractive and get more dates if they just got better at using Craigslist and, even more importantly, got better at using OKCupid, “Because face it, OK Cupid is where people go to meet dates now.”

What followed was the same pretty-generic advice that everybody who shills for OKCupid gives:

  • Include better photos, and more of them. Take off your sunglasses and face the camera, women want to see your full facial expression.
  • Fill out a lot more of the questionnaire and include more details in your profile. Women want to know who you are.
  • Ask specific questions that show that you read the woman’s profile, don’t ever ask generic small-talk questions like “how are you” or “what’s up.”
  • Follow her train of conversation, don’t try to steer it to other subjects.

After about 15 or so minutes of this, another man in the audience finally said what I was wanting to say. And he said it so much better than I could that by the end of his rant, I wanted to stand on my chair, whistle, holler, applaud, throw frisbees around, and wave a cigarette lighter. I can’t do it word for word, so I apologize for the paraphrase, but:

When it comes to trying to meet people that you’re going to have any kind of personal connection with, websites are a really good way to do it. He said that he’s met lots of women, including all but one of his current partners, online. Via Facebook, Instagram, and Flickr, not OKCupid. OKCupid sucks.

What people put on their OKCupid profile is a carefully curated (and, I added when he was done, more often than not dishonest) artificial “first impression” that tells you none of what he, or I, or any other man in the audience wants to know before deciding if a woman is interesting. What do you do other than go out dating, and how often do you do it, and with what kinds of crowds, and how long have you been doing it? OKCupid at most tells you who else on OKCupid they are friends with or in relationships with, a tiny percentage of their actual social circle, which (he forcefully pointed out) is completely useless if he wonders what friends you and he have in common. OKCupid shows a couple of pictures of you, ones that you chose because you think they make you attractive; on other social media sites, women post pictures of themselves in a lot more contexts, many of them a lot less artificial and made-up and posed.

Or, as I summed it up to a friend on Facebook (also female, also pushing back against my attack on OKCupid): nobody looks as good as they do in their OKCupid profile, nobody dresses as well as they do in the picture they chose for their OKCupid profile, and nobody is as happy as they portray themselves to be in their OKCupid profile, and nobody’s job, finances, health, family, or work-life balance is as happy as they portray it on their OKCupid profile.

But the therapist who was leading the discussion group really did want to leave it there and drop it: if men got better at emotional intelligence and learned to use OKCupid, they would stop asking their wives to go out on fewer dates, and that would solve the inequality inefficiency.

I Still Say …

By this point in the workshop, all the topics that the presenter came prepared for had been covered, and most everybody in the audience had had their issues addressed in a (mostly) respectful and helpful way, and, well, honestly, people were exhausted. The conversation petred out with about twenty minutes to kill. The therapist asked, repeatedly, with long pauses in between, if anybody had another issues to raise about male inequality in the kink, sex-positive, or polyamory communities? Anybody?

After a long pause, I finally said (and I’m sure I sounded as tired as I was), “Okay. Let’s say that men, myself included, got better at emotional intelligence and learned to more confidently introduce ourselves. Let’s say that single men got better at using OKCupid. Two problems remain, and you haven’t addressed either of them. ‘Unicorn hunters’ and harem collectors are still going to exist, the movement still tolerates them, and those men make single men feel about as welcome as a leper on fire. And so do most event organizers.”

Aggravatingly, like almost literally every other activist in the poly community other than Franklin Veaux, she refused to engage at all on the patriarchy issue and couple privilege. But there was one person in the room who organizes clothing-optional sex-positive events, and she threw the organizers versus single men question to him.

He gave the same answer he’s given every time he’s been questioned about the subject—and, to my ear, he sounded tired of answering it. His experience is that they have to close early invites to nearly all single men. Single men sign up for these events a lot sooner, which gives a skewed impression of what the final gender balance will be, which throws off women. That leaves an event with only men at it, which doesn’t make anybody happy, least of all the single men who clamored to be let in. He said that, in particular, before women who are single or looking are willing to sign up for an event, it takes them time to recruit female friends who’ll come with them—and then he finished that sentence with exactly what I was looking for, “So they’ll feel comfortable or something.”

“Or something” indeed. Here’s something I’ve noticed about the clothing optional, sex positive, polyamorous, and kink-friendly communities of today compared to 15 years ago, when I was one of the organizers of such events, and who knew a lot of the previous generation of organizers in this town and some of the current generation: in a lot of contexts, we’re moving backwards on consent issues, we’re moving backwards on making women feel safe at events. Some of it is the aging off of old activists. Some of it is the gradual, perceptible (and to my mind, unwanted) replacement of the previous generations’ female leaders with more and more male leaders. I still think that the biggest difference is that, with broader social acceptance, all of those movements have been flooded by people who come from the broader, patriarchal, rape-tolerant culture who haven’t yet had their behaviors and assumptions challenged forcefully enough.

The infamous “Brad Parties” were small potatoes compared to bigger events like Czarkon and St. Louis Leather and Lace, but even I know two things. The lesser of the two important things is that if you want women to feel safe enough, and to have enough of a good time, that they come back, you really have to be highly pro-active about intoxication management; nothing scares off women faster than badly-managed out of control drunks. (And for good reason!) But that’s a smaller part of a broader issue. Women who go to poly, kinky, nudist, or even just plain social events know that they’re going to be propositioned, however bluntly, by men they would rather not be. If it happens a lot, if men who proposition every woman there aren’t educated or gently mocked out of it or overtly expelled, they’re not coming back. And they for damned sure aren’t coming back if they have any fear that a “no thank you” will be met by wheedling, argument, anger, blame, or gods-forbid force.

I had an emotionally competent and confident all-girl ninja squad of enforcers backed up by a one-man brute squad skilled at using education before persuasion and persuasion before intimidation and intimidation before force (me). I also had literally non-stop messaging, interspersed with enough other visuals to attract the eye, on the subjects of safety and consent, and in almost literally every room and literally for the whole duration of each and every event. That I also had no shortage of happy women attending my clothing-optional and/or leather events is not coincidental.

I’m not saying you have to turn every polyamorous, kinky, or clothing optional event into a feminism seminar. I am saying, however, that it takes proactive steps and ongoing management to teach consent culture to people raised in rape culture, and doubly so if intoxicants are served. (And I didn’t even get to address the issue of “ask” versus “guess” culture.)

My (Maybe-Unfair?) Summary:

  1. There was a strong consensus that, unsurprisingly, a lot of people, most of them men, who complain about not getting dates are unattractive people: some of them people who don’t maintain their appearance, more of them people who treat other people badly.
  2. Less-attractive people feel insecure, and act out in bad ways, when they end up in relationships with more-attractive people; she seems to think that more-attractive people should accommodate that.
  3. Less-attractive people would (supposedly) have fewer problems if they all got on OKCupid and learned to use it well.
  4. Still nobody wants to talk about patriarchy. Let alone do anything like call people on patriarchal attitudes or actions. Even though patriarchy hurts men too, especially in alternative sexuality communities.
31 Aug 23:51

FATBOY SLIM – “Praise You”

by Tom

#811, 16th January 1999

praise you Norman Cook had ridden across 1998 in triumph, building his Fatboy Slim persona into a dependably gonzo pop brand. On “The Rockefeller Skank” he’d pushed his machines hard enough to break them, the track unspooling into a chaos of jammed samples, the sound equivalent of a stuck keyboard keyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Following in that greatest of pop traditions, it sounded brilliant so he kept it in.

Then built on it: under a bouncy – and annoying – brass and vocal sample, “Gangsta Tripping” was a ball pit of joyful splices and rapid cuts. His remix for Wildchild’s “Renegade Master” was harder-edged, pushing cut-up repetition to brutal levels before taking his hand off the brake for moments of delicious dancefloor relief. How far would he push it? “Praise You” starts off slow and intimate – the bassy roll of a piano riff, and a sample of Camille Yarborough’s “Take Yo’ Praise” – and then slips into his longest stuck-sound yet, the word “should” extended second upon ludicrous second. It sounds like the gateway to the biggest, baddest Fatboy beat-drop yet… but instead he does something else. The trapped-fly buzz of the “should” falls back into the track, overcome as the rest of the groove builds up. The song gets gentler.

At the time, I’ll admit, this was something of a disappointment. I’d bought all 1998’s other Fatboy singles, and loved the rumbustious unsubtlety of his beat-making. Sly warmth was not what I’d showed up for. Add to that a mistrust of the gospel-sample route born out of the ubiquity of Moby’s Play album that year – a self-conscious marriage of old and new to largely banal effect – and I thought the Fatboy had lost his touch.

Returning to it now, I think I was hopelessly wrong. A fourth slice of frenzy might have been enjoyable, but he’d mined that seam well enough. “Praise You” is something richer – a journey back into pop’s recent past, a statement at the end of the decade that the 90s had contributed something marvellous to pop – and that something was the kaleidoscopic intermix of dance music with everything else, a movement that had liberated Cook himself from indie bassist drudgery and had, fleetingly, promised to extend that liberation to any musician or fan who wanted it. By the time that “should” ends, “Praise You” has slid into a loping, loose-fit, comfortably familiar groove, marinated in wah-wah, that could have been put together by Andy Weatherall at the decade’s other end and topped with a Rowetta vocal line or an “Easy Rider” sample. And I realise, delightedly, that I’m listening to the last great baggy record.

As such, it has to be a little bittersweet – “Praise You” is joyful, but it’s a weatherbeaten kind of joy. The only indie-dance number one at the front of the 90s was an invitation to the whole world to join England’s party in the sunshine: if even football can get on one, what’s stopping you? The party ended, as they do, and if the 90s can look naively idyllic and lazy from a 21st century perspective, at the time they felt like a long missed opportunity, their idealism front-loaded. From a raver’s perspective, that was particularly true – Cook himself adored playing in front of colossal crowds at festivals or on beaches, a legitimised version of the outlaw outdoor dream that the Criminal Justice Act had killed off.

“Praise You” speaks to me as an act of vindication: the parties, the records, the dreams, even the mistakes – they mattered. Like The Streets’ later “Weak Become Heroes”, it’s a fractal record, its function vis-à-vis one night replicated at era scale: “Praise You” is a goofy, end-of-the-party, closer whose happy, weary tone works as well if you’re looking back at a few years not just a few hours. As the song rolls on, a few more old friends come and join the party – a smattering of dumb la-la backing vox here, the tweaked squelch of a Roland TB-303 there. For a few minutes, the doors of pop’s club are opened up again, and anyone might be welcome. Then the piano loop boils to a single note, the sample is left hanging – “I have to praise you…” – and the track simply ends. Go back if you like, draw strength from what you’ve seen and done. Take yo’ praise – then move on.

31 Aug 23:48

#TransStonewall: The Meeting

by Zoe O'Connell

Yesterday, Saturday, was the day of the big Stonewall-Trans meeting in London. The briefest bit of background is in order for those who are not engaged in LGBT politics, or who are reading this in ten years time and don’t know what the fuss is about: Stonewall UK are an LGB organisation, not an LGBT organisation.

Historically, this has caused problems.

But Stonewall is under new management in the form of Chief Executive Ruth Hunt, who is keen to work with the trans communities and build bridges. A few of us have worked with Ruth from when she was the number two at Stonewall, and knew her to be approachable and someone we could work with so we were not walking into this completely blind.

What the meeting was not

One point that is quite clear from all that has been said is that the meeting itself is not definitive. It has certainly been influential, not least as a rare gathering of so may trans people who agreed if not on the detail, at least on the general direction we’d like this to go in. But Ruth is keen to hear from as many people as possible and Stonewall are still looking for feedback from trans people. (As an aside, please don’t think Stonewall can solve every niche issue faced by every trans person any more than they can do the same for the LGB community. Such expectations can only lead to disappointment. What working with Stonewall will give is better trans activism overall, not perfection.)

Any closer working with Stonewall is also not about services. Stonewall do not provide individual support and do not pursue legal actions on behalf of individuals, except as part of a more strategic outcome. Stonewall’s modus operandi is strategic, UK-wide lobbying, research and education/training.

Finally, the meeting was not about cis people. The only non-trans people present were Ruth Hunt herself, Stonewall’s chair Jan Gooding and the facilitator, Caroline. A number of cis people who were involved in (LGB)T organisations did ask to turn up but were told this was a meeting for trans folk only.

Concerns have been raised over the inclusivity of the meeting. Whilst no group can ever be perfect, I can certainly say it wasn’t awful: About a two-to-one trans feminine vs masculine split, (Which is roughly representative of the trans communities in the UK) clear non-binary representation, a spread of religious beliefs and not excessively London-centric or exclusively white. There was certainly also some representation from people with disabilities and I believe intersex people, but being invisible traits I can’t say how numerous that representation was.

Stonewall does also intend to hold separate meetings with PoC and other groups.

The options

The day was mostly about the how, rather than the what. What’s needed is something we all had experience of and Ruth outlined three options on the how, which formed the focus of the day. These were:

1. Stonewall becomes fully LGBT. All Stonewall’s output is LGBT-inclusive, as is all their fundraising.

2. Stonewall does “a bit” of LGBT, but also supports the community in setting up a sibling organisation. For the first year or two, this would involve mentoring, initial fundraising and shared back-office (HR, IT) resources.

3. Stonewall does not do T. Instead, they gives grants to trans organisations.

There was also a number 4 on the list, which is simply “Stonewall is a better ally”. This wasn’t discussed because Stonewall have committed to do this anyway, as they feel comfortable that they don’t need a mandate just to Do The Right Thing.

Where the meeting went

I shall skip several hours of discussions, in which many excellent points were raised in the various smaller groups. The quickest one sentence summary is “nobody likes option three”. (The Stonewall-gives-grants option) Many reasons were given for this but it boils down to any attempt by an LGB organisation to give grants appearing paternalistic, as well as the trouble of how LGB folk are supposed to know where money for T issues is best spent.

A number of attendees with experience of small organisations obtaining grants also commented on how taxing navigating grant applications can be for such groups.

Which of option one or two is best is a much harder call, particularly given that is can be viewed more as a range of options rather than strictly either/or.

The positive points about option one, Stonewall becoming entirely LGBT, is that Stonewall tends to be a one-stop-shop, with large organisations focusing on LGB issues for a while before finding some other equalities issues to worry about. Despite such groups being told by Stonewall that T is separate, they don’t quite get around to thinking about gender identity but just tick the “We did LGBT!” box and move on. If Stonewall deliver LGBT rather than LGB training and include the T when lobbying government bodies, that’s immediately a great deal more than we are getting right now.

The obvious drawback on that option is lack of autonomy of the trans community. Work will inevitably be focused on what LGBT needs this year and next year, not what T needs this year and next year, and trans issues can often court controversy which Stonewall is likely to be uncomfortable with. For example, there is not likely to be another LGB-centric bill going through parliament in the next decade or two so Stonewall will be less likely to focus on lobbying, but there are still a significant number of legislative changes being sought by trans people.

Option two, Stonewall having a sibling organisation, gives back that autonomy. What it does lose is the commitment from Stonewall itself to carry on doing the “T” long term once it has spun off such an sibling group. It also results in the loss of the contacts and influence Stonewall has that enables it to go into large organisations via it’s Workplace Equality Index and other initiatives.

The sweet spot appears to be somewhere between option 1¼ and 1¾, with a range of ideas on how that might look. Where we seem to be heading is towards Stonewall starting to do trans-inclusive work now, where “now” in such a complex organisation is more like “over the course of the next year, because lots of staff training needs to happen“. There were no concrete ideas at this stage on how this work would engage with trans people – either as employees or outside advisers, but Ruth was consistently and repeatedly clear that Stonewall will not be attempting anything without trans involvement.

The inclusive work is things like education/training campaigns (e.g. Some People are Gay would have also included “Some People are Trans, Get Over It”) as well as any lobbying work and research.

That leaves the trans-exclusive work which does not overlap with LGB issues: Gender Recognition Act reform, Spousal Veto, Sexual Offenses legislation, Healthcare and so on. Under a pure “Stonewall does LGBT” approach, some of this could be picked up but as it would result in a more major shift in campaigning it would not be quick, would take at least a year to get going and risks diverting some funding that existing T-exclusive organisations are already receiving. However, it looks more likely that Stonewall will help to set up a sibling trans-specific organisation to handle these issues instead.

Where next

As mentioned earlier, there is still more consultation that Stonewall would like to do. They are aiming to produce a summary document in January, which the Stonewall board will look at and trans folk will have the chance to comment on further.

The final report, with a definitive statement on Stonewall’s future intentions, is expected in April.

30 Aug 22:49

New Who 8.2 Into the Dalek

Well, I don't know about you, but from where I'm standing (well, lying - on the sofa, of course), that looked very much like two good episodes in a row. Not only that, but some strong themes for the season now seem to have established themselves, and I like where they're going - so that's where I'm going to start.

Last week there was a lot of stuff about the Doctor's new face, and what subconscious message he might have been trying to tell himself by choosing it. It was obvious that we were meant to pay attention here to the elephant-sized hints about the Doctor's new character. With this story to add to the bank of evidence (and noting that it was co-written by Moffat, so is likely to contribute directly to the Big Arcs of the season), we can now see a little more clearly where those hints were going. The Doctor's Caecilius-face reminds us that while he certainly saves people, there are also many more whom he can't and doesn't save - and indeed that the difference between them often rests on little more than chance and his whim. And we saw exactly this multiple times during this episode.

I groaned at the opening, when it seemed clear as day that yet again, we'd just met two ethnic minority characters only for them to be the first to die. But while one of them did, one of them didn't, so that we were confronted directly with that very difference between the saved and the not-saved - and it was made quite clear that Journey was more upset about the loss of her brother than grateful about her own rescue (as the Doctor expected her to be). Then two more died inside the Dalek - the first of whom the Doctor explicitly stated he had chosen to sacrifice without any consultation (thus acting in exactly the role of a divinity which the Dalek later sees in him), and the second of whom chose to do it of her own volition (perhaps now convinced, after Clara's assurance, that he is a quasi god-like figure, in the service of whose mission it is worth sacrificing her own life). And, most importantly of all, we see her ending up in 'Heaven' with Missy, just like the cyborg whom the Doctor either killed or allowed to die last week as well.

I no longer care who Missy is (beyond hoping that she is her own original, independent character, rather than a rehash), but it looks very much like what she is doing is collecting up all the people whom the Doctor doesn't save. She is a sort of inverted version of him, so that while he acts like a god in his own universe, she has set up an alternate heaven, with herself as goddess, which reflects his failures. Likewise, all the other themes here - about whether being a soldier fatally compromises a person's morals, and whether or not the Doctor is any better than an inverted version of the Daleks - seem to be exploring the same territory. I still don't trust Moffat not to mess up the denouement of all this in the final episode with his trademark combination of over-complicated action and over-simplified emotions. But I am certainly sick of Moffat-y 'everybody lives' stories, so am happy in the meantime to watch stories where everybody doesn't live, and to explore some of the emotional and moral consequences of that.

The other obvious thing to say about this episode, as was also the case for last week's, is how strongly it references other stories. There is an adage about Doctor Who (one that's repeated often enough to mean that a cursory Google doesn't reliably reveal its source) which says that the programme is often at its best when its roots are showing. That is, when it presents unashamed re-tellings of existing stories, as e.g. in the glory days of the Tom Baker era, when writers like Robert Holmes raided Hammer's back-catalogue for their inspiration. This story most obviously recalls Dalek from the New Who era, The Invisible Enemy from the old, and by extension that story's own source, Fantastic Voyage (1966) - as acknowledged in the Doctor's comment that being sent 'Into the Dalek' would make a great plot for a film. And those are only the most prominent plot references. The Doctor himself muses over his first encounter with the Daleks on Skaro; any appearance of Coal Hill School still inevitably recalls the many previous stories in which it has featured; and I'm sure there are many other connections which one could spot. All in all, the experience of watching this story often felt rather like watching several stories at once, all layered over one another like strips of gauze.

Whether this is a good thing or not, I'm not sure. This was certainly a good story, but was that because of the references to other stories, or in spite of them? The 'roots are showing' adage of course doesn't really relate to references within the Whoniverse - only the usage of external stories by Doctor Who writers - and in those terms I think it still rings true. Fundamentally, the fact that this story used substantial chunks of the plot from Fantastic Voyage (1966) meant that Steven Moffat and Phil Ford could concentrate their energies instead on the 'Who-ish' elements of the story - i.e. writing the Doctor, Clara and the one-off characters well, and inserting a bit of classic Whovian fun and irreverence. That, I think, is why the 'roots are showing' rule has been so reliable over the years. Multiple internal references back to other Doctor Who stories are a rather different thing, and may be more about fan-service and showing off how clever and geeky Moffat is than anything much else. But then again, they may be leading somewhere interesting, and they certainly didn't commit the cardinal sin of overly-fannish continuity references - relying so heavily on viewers' knowledge of (long-)previous stories that they couldn't follow this story without it. So far as I could tell, this was a decent stand-alone story, whether or not you knew its sources, and that is the really important thing.

Meanwhile, Clara continues to be interesting and well-developed, both in her interactions with Danny Pink, the ex-soldier-turned-teacher at Coal Hill School, and in her contribution to the story-of-the-week. It's nice that the Doctor trusts her enough to send her to the Dalek's main cortex to 'do a clever thing' without himself having any clear idea what that might be - and that she manages to do it and save the day, too. That said, while it was also a lovely idea to give her insights which the Doctor fails to spot into what they have learnt from the fact that the Dalek returned to form after the radiation leak was fixed, I'm not so keen on the fact that she never got to voice them. OK, yes, the Doctor gave her full credit when he relayed her insights to the rest of the group, but it did feel rather a lot to me like the phenomenon in meetings where a woman puts forward a good idea and nobody hears it, but when a man says the same thing he gets a rapturous reception. Still, by Moffat's past standards this is definitely an improvement. Maybe he really has been listening to people's criticism about his portrayal of women, BaME characters and (given last week's lesbian lizard kiss) LGBT characters, after all?

Other things:
  • Suddenly the rumours that Clara may be leaving in the near future seem more substantial. She has been given a love interest, while we've also seen another person ask to join Team TARDIS. I.e. the ideas that the existing companion might move on to other things, and that another person might start travelling with the Doctor, were both aired - even if they haven't gone anywhere yet.
  • I loved the Dalek spinning round yelling "Truth? What is the truth?" on a spaceship named Aristotle. I'd been waiting for the name to pay off all episode, and that moment did not disappoint.
  • Looking forward to a straightforwardly silly episode next week with Robin Hood - yay!
  • [Added a couple of hours later] Oh - can't believe I only just noticed this, but Rusty the Dalek? Because while 'Rusty' is a perfectly reasonable name for a Dalek with corrosion issues, that's also what fandom always used to call Russell T. Davies. Did you really do that Moffat? Name your confused Dalek who has two settings - GOOD and EVIL - after your predecessor? 'Cos that doesn't sound super-complimentary to me, and you'd better be pretty confident about delivering the goods yourself if you really meant everything that implies.


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30 Aug 22:47

The Embarrassment of Being a “Gamer”

by Dave

Metro: 2033 was an Xbox game I played last year and enjoyed. I’ve been wanting to get its sequel, Metro: Last Light for some time. I’m not so sure I still want it, though. One of the complaints I had about Metro: 2033 was that this post-apocalyptic world was seemingly woman-free. Everyone I interacted with was a man or a monster (in fact, sometimes I wonder if the “men” were…worse than the “monsters”!) There were no women at all who I spoke with or even shot. That just seemed weird to me, and I hoped it would be addressed in Last Light. Turns out, it was!

In Last Light you get to go to a post-apocalyptic strip club and have a no-doubt strong and empowered female character give you a topless lap dance! Progress!

I found this out when I watched the latest in Anita Sarkeesian’s “Tropes vs Women in Video Games” series. It’s the second part of a look at women used as background decoration in games, where female characters serve no purpose beyond sexual titillation or gruesome murder victims. Or, often, both at the same time.

I’ll be honest, I’ve played and enjoyed some videogames that had some distressing material in them. Probably the most notable is Red Dead Redemption, which took some time out from sending wolves after me to threaten an actually up until that moment pretty decent female character with rape and to send me to a nearly game-ruining racist caricature of Mexico for its entire second act. The game I’m currently playing, Dishonored, seems to be wanting to fill a Sarkeesian bingo card with its portrayal of women. It’s maddening and insulting.

Fortunately for me, I’m a straight white guy. I can point these things out and the worst I’ll be called is a faggot or “white knight”. For Anita Sarkeesian and other women who dare to do the same, they get hatred, vitriol, rape threats, and death threats. For some reason merely bringing the subject up is perceived as a call to arms for a certain section of the gamer audience if the messenger is a woman. As Darryl Ayo put it,

It doesn’t seem like it should be that controversial to ask why a videogame needs to be advertised with a photo of a dead woman wearing lingerie with her legs spread apart, but apparently doing so gets some people just poison mad.

I’m assured it’s only “some people” by folks who argue that this bunch is only a small yet vocal minority and don’t represent “gamer culture” as a whole, yet those extremists are not operating in a vacuum. The crux of Sarkeesian’s argument is that the games themselves — the vast majority of them — either ignore women altogether or include them solely as property, toys, or prizes for being the manliest man (it’s quite telling that the endless parade of prostitutes shown in the videos all have the same line: that for you, the player, they’ll give a free sample because you’re such an Adonis). Her claims are that this creates an environment which is hostile to women. Sarkeesian isn’t pointing out problems in the hooligans that are threatening her, she’s pointing out systemic issues within the entire industry, and she makes a convincing point.

This allegedly vocal minority seems to think that games exist solely for them, and that anything which threatens their hegemony must be viciously opposed. This is Sarkeesian’s actual point, that the console videogame industry is by and large a place by men and for men. It seems clear that the assholes aren’t the sole problem, they’re the most visible signs of the problem. They were created by an industry that caters to them and a community that allows them to grow and fester unchallenged in their anonymous comment pools.

To deny that the vile children who want the world to conform to their immature tastes are representative of the larger gaming environment is to ignore the vast number of incidents that are regularly reported from events like PAX, from sites like Kotaku, and from the releases from the companies themselves. You can’t look at a parade of scenes from AAA titles all featuring prostitutes cooing at the protagonist and/or lusciously draped female corpses and say there’s no pattern here. The stories of a woman who dared to have an opinion about videogames (or exist in that world) being harassed and hounded are so common and prevalent that the reaction isn’t “what happened?” but “what happened this time?” This Sarkeesian situation followed hot on the heels of the Zoe Quinn situation, where a legion of male gamers have felt the need to defend the “integrity” of “game journalism”, which is akin to defending the intellectual foundations of the Tea Party.

These are not the actions of a small, embittered minority. This shit goes on too often and to too much of an extent to just wave away with #NotAllGamers. The game releases are tilted towards a stunted, juvenile sort of heterosexual male, as is the marketing and the discussion. Anonymous, unmoderated comment sections give an unchallenging echo chamber for these degenerates to grow and flourish, eventually bursting to release their toxic spores elsewhere. And meanwhile the same people who demand that videogames be treated as art get angry when its critiqued as just that, limply replying that it’s just a game, just for entertainment, don’t get so upset, as though “art” means something is just admired and respected and never ever questioned or challenged.

The fact that “Mature” rated videogames feature nothing actually mature, just titties and cussing, shows that the industry needs to work on its idea of maturity. Not catering to and acting like 13 year old boys would be a good first step.

I’ll pass on Metro: Last Light. I don’t need to be a party to, “Oh, you want women in this story? FINE, here’s some strippers and prostitutes.” Don’t save the last lap dance for me.

30 Aug 16:39

ADVENTURES IN STATIONERY

by James Ward

I have written a book. It’s about stationery. It’s called Adventures in Stationery: A Journey Through Your Pencil Case and was published by Profile Books on September 11th 2014.

Here is a brief description of it:

We are surrounded by stationery: half-chewed Cristal Bics and bent paper clips, rubber bands to fiddle with or ping, blunt pencils, rubbers and Tipp-ex. They are integral parts of our everyday environment. So much so that we have no idea of the stories they have to tell. But James Ward is here to explain how important stationery is to us. After all, who remains unmoved by the sight of the first sheet of a brand new notepad? And which of humanity’s brightest ideas didn’t start life on a scrap of paper, a Post-it, or in the margins of a notebook?

Exploring these everyday objects, Ward reveals tales of invention – accidental and brilliant – and bitter rivalry. He also asks the difficult questions, who is Mr Pritt? What does shatter-proof resistant mean? How many pens does Argos use? And what do design evolutions in desk organisers mean for society? Perhaps most importantly, it’s time to ask Blu-Tack: what are the 1000s of uses they claim? Combining telling details, peculiar facts, a love of humour, hubris and brimming with curious stories, this book will change the way you look at your desk forever.

Sounds good, right?

You can order it from Waterstones here for only £10, plus you get free delivery.


30 Aug 15:54

Day 4983: Doctor Who: Breathing (Obligatory Kate Bush Reference)

by Millennium Dome
Saturday:


Doctor Who returned, as an irrepressible, outrageous, furious Peter Capaldi.



I loved it. But not everyone did. And I loved every moment of it while it was on-screen, but afterwards have found myself struggling to puzzle why.

So in a most curious way, "Deep Breath" exists in two states simultaneously: one has dazzling effects, moving acting, subtle and clever script; the other has alienating continuity, no concessions to the viewer, and reiteration of the wrong plot points.

You can’t say the Mister Moffster doesn’t learn from his mistakes. Au contraire, Blackadder! He learns whole new ways to remake them.

Not taking enough time over the stories? Fine, we will stretch it to eighty minutes!

Clara doesn't have a personality? Not a problem, let's give her a brand new one!

Worried the audience might not connect to the new Doctor? Let's make it really obvious that the central idea of the story is the paradox of Trigger's Broom.

Change is continuity. So the metatext become the text.

We have a story where in-episode viewers complain about the quality of the special effects; a story about rebuilding things from stolen spare parts is made of stolen bits of other stories, including the main plot – and monster – lifted from "The Fire in the Girly-Place" (hat-tip Lawrence Miles); where the Doctor himself is sure he's seen this episode – or this face – before, he just can't quite place it; a story that answers "is he still the Doctor" with a blizzard of continuity and quotes from "here we go again" to "you've redecorated" to the whole "shall we go for chips" scene from "The End of the World" (retold more awkwardly, because in Moffat men are always more awkward); a story so keen to let you know it's reflecting on who is the Doctor that it hits you with more mirrors than Paul McGann in a room full of mirrors yelling "Who! Am! I?!?!".

If these moments resonate for you, if you feel that all these quotations amount to meaning – and I do – then you'll love "Deep Breath". If they don't, if maybe you don't have that history in your blood, then you better be pleased by a distracting dinosaur of Godzilla-sized, credibility-stretching proportions.


Let start with what was unashamedly good about this.

Capaldi delivered. That's the single most obvious but most important thing.

Sure, he had nothing to prove – unlike Matt Smith turning in a tour de force in "The Eleventh Hour" – and nobody seems to have doubted he had it in him. But boy is he a pro. Terrifying, cowardly, arrogant, compassionate, infuriating… and that's before he gets out of his pyjamas.

There was a lot of Tom Baker in the performance, at his most enigmatic, aloof and alien; his first line out of the TARDIS – "shush" – reminding me instantly of Tom's "not today, thank you". The dialogue – Moffat seems to have gone "school of Dicks" and written generic Doctor, or just "Matt" – was full of the swerves and scattershot that could easily have been delivered by the eleventh Doctor but delivered in very different style – particularly, say, "I don't like being wrong in public; everyone forget I said that" coming across much more Malcom Tucker than Matt Smith.

His defining scene, naturally, the confrontation at the climax taking him from icy calm offering the villain a drink to a face full of teeth as they struggle as we see the possibility of a Doctor fully in control of himself and his powers and responsibilities, no longer hiding behind "tawdry quirks" and a youthful mask. Though my favourite moment may have been the – immensely Tom in "Robot", too – glimpse of childish glee on rejecting the door as "boring; not me" and spying the window: "me!"

Then there's the episode length.

Some people have said that it dragged, or at least that it didn't find its feet until the scene where Clara meets the Doctor in the restaurant. I don't agree. And it would hardly be consistent of me if I did, having last year said that Moffat's problem was too short a running time, and that he was generally better with the longer frame of the specials.

And a double-length episode means we in fact are getting the same bangs-for-your-buck's worth in twelve weeks as a season as the "usual" thirteen normal-length episodes.

You get to have your season-opening two-parter all at once!

Though I'd say that this is, essentially, an entirely laudable effort to reinvent the old four-parter.

There are clear demarcations between what could have been episodes – part "one" has the Doctor in his nightshirt and a "cliffhanger" where he jumps off Westminster Bridge; part "two" has him in the tramp's coat and focusses a lot on his and Clara's "finding" the Doctor, before the second "cliffhanger" when their table at the clockwork restaurant goes all "Live and Let Die" on them; part three has the new Doctor and Clara becoming a team again, and him coming into his own as a person, finishing in the fatal fall of the half-faced man; and the fourth part is the aftermath, and looking forward, where he is entirely his new self and Clara has to accept he is the same person, and we get a nod to what is surely the arc of the season (Missy, Mistress, Master? Nah…).

In a way, then, like the way "Inferno" slips a parallel Earth story into the middle of its run, "Deep Breath" is a two-part adventure with the clockwork droids – reimagined in delicious Gothic style with heavy doses of Justin Richard's novel "System Shock" – in the middle of a two-part regeneration story, with the Doctor's recovery in the first part and Clara's acceptance in the fourth.

And for me, it really worked, giving a lot more time for developing character. The Doctor's "regeneration crisis" – and that dinosaur – are largely confined to the first twenty minutes. Afterwards he's playing on people's confusion and lack of expectations about him… (particularly "that" scene with Clara…).

The second "episode" has a "next morning" feel about it (not the only thing "Deep Breath" has in common with "The Sensational TV Movie", by the way). The Doctor's scenes – with tramp Barney touchingly played by Brian Miller – are all about him discovering who this new face is. Where do the faces come from is a particularly interesting question (suggested by a conversation with Russell Davies, apparently), and this too holds hints that there may be something in it this time, a message, though why Caecilius (or Mr Frobisher) we have yet to understand.

There's also time to expand on the characters of the returning Paternoster heroes, and for the first time I really felt that Vastra and Jenny were in a real relationship (no, not because of – in fact almost in spite of – the heavy-handed "we're married" refrain that kept being hammered home). Strax may be becoming a bit of a one-note joke, but there are the odd interesting thing slipped in among the gags: he notices, for example, that Clara has good lungs – which comes in handy shortly – and you have to wonder (Miranda moment: I don't think we do!) what the "young men doing sport" in her subconscious are about after her strenuous assertions that she could flirt with a mountain range. And the funniest bit in the episode is the slapstick flooring of Clara by the Sontaran "sending up the Times".

But mostly the second act puts the focus squarely on Clara, on how she feels about the Doctor now, and how clever she is. It is after all she who works out the clue in the newspaper. OK, the Doctor does too, but he's supposed to be that smart and it is Clara that we see doing it.

Former teacher Steven Moffat has clearly brought some history to Clara now. The great use of classroom flashback to show where Clara gets both intelligence and sass to use against the clockwork villain.

Now, however, we're getting to the parts that are more brilliant/awkward than purely brilliant.

I loved all that character stuff for the Paternoster Gang, but at the same time I can see that it's really asking a lot of someone tuning in for the first time. They might be Moffat's satirical updating of the old UNIT family but they're still a bit… weird to just take as read (in a way that "straight" archetypes like the Brig and Sergeant Benton are not). Of the prehistoric lizard lady and the Victorian ninja maid, is their marriage the thing that you most need to make clear to the audience? (OK, actual complaints to Ofcom about the kiss suggests that yes maybe it is.) And while I think that the "reverse Emperor's clothes" of Vastra's veil – seen only by those whose prejudice won't see her, another re-echoed theme – is ingenious, is this "introducing" episode really the best place?

(Oh, and one little flaw in the direction, that seems to have been widely praised: Vastra and Jenny drawing their swords is clearly supposed to be a two-shot that demonstrates they are equals in spite of the rôles they cosplay, so why is the camera only on Vastra, cutting Jenny out?)

Clara is the first companion since Rose actually to experience a regeneration, and in the case of Rose the Doctor's change made him more the sort of young, dashing man she expected, more "her boyfriend", perhaps trying to satisfy Rose’s "inner fan" was the start of his making that mid-lives-crisis mistake.

Something we've not seen really since the 'Eighties is the "hang-over" companion, the assistant perfectly suited to a Doctor who then unfortunately dies and leaves them with a very different successor: think Adric, sorcerer's apprentice to Tom Baker's ageing wizard who winds up with the youthful Davison; or Peri whose energy and enthusiasm clearly go with Peter One*'s curiosity and gentlemanly vim, but who gets stuck with the crazy shouty man; or even underrated Mel who is loud and direct and proactive and just perfect for Baker Two, but who is entirely unsuited for the complex manipulations of Sylv's master chessplayer.

[*Alex note: This makes the Lord Cushing: Peter Zero :^]

Clara, on the face of it, seems so much more the companion for the eleventh Doctor who she absolutely did not fancy (Miranda moment: she did fancy him). But twelve could be the making of her.

Clara slightly out of her depth and on the edge of panic, Clara clearly pissed off with the Doctor messing her around, these are good, believably human traits for her, and bring out some strong acting chops from Jenna Coleman.

But where's it come from? How is this the same character, the same Impossible Girl, we've followed for a year or more? And you might say that Clara is a control freak – second-funniest moment in the episode: "Nothing in this room is more important than my egomania!" – but did anyone honestly think that of her before?

Though never mind the switch from last year's Clara (who for no readily apparent reason dived into the Doctor's timeline without batting an eyelid, and then without breaking into a sweat persuaded not one but three Doctors to save Gallifrey because that's the man they all were); what about the one between one side of the new title sequence and the other? From "He's [the Doctor is] right here" to "The Doctor is gone!"

Moffat likes to make his writing ambiguous (or "clever") so that you read it one way only for a later twist to make you re-interpret. An example would be the "translating" of the dinosaur's lament which also refers to the Doctor, as made clear by the reiteration of "just see me" from the end of the bedroom scene to after "that" phone call (and yes, just like when he translates the minotaur at the end of "The God Complex").

I think the Grand Moff is trying to do the same thing with Clara's reaction to the regeneration: it's supposed to have a superficial reading of "whah he's got all old", as a rebuke to the widespread supposition that the Twenty-First Century Doctor needs to be young and pretty to appeal to the audience, and then it turns out she's fine with his age but thinks something else has gone wrong.

Except it falls flat on its face, because Clara expressly says "why's he old?" and says nothing to suggest an alternative interpretation (until she tears Vastra off a strip). So what was she moping about?

I'd suggest that there are two or three possible ways they could have gone to clear this up.

My first thought, and perhaps simplest: just a line to say "I've seen all of his faces; this isn't one of them!" It would take people's strongest objection to Clara's reaction – that she more than anyone else ought to be au fait with regeneration – and turn it on its head; her very familiarity is what makes this new face, this stranger's face so upsetting to her.

Secondly, and possibly connected to that, play more on the "Power of the Daleks" question of: "is he really the Doctor?" Could this be a completely different Time Lord sent to take his place? After all, Clara saw "her" Doctor blow up. And then this guy appears in the TARDIS. By making this more of a mystery through the episode it would also have added extra strength to the phone call ending, where the new man turns out to know what the Doctor said… proving he is the same fellow at last.

Thirdly, and maybe what they were trying to allude to, Clara does say at one point "it's gone wrong", though it is sadly a bit lost between flirting with the "big lady" and "maybe you should wear labels". It's possible that Clara thinks that either the Doctor is supposed to "renew" into a young body and age normally (as, to be fair, she saw Matt's eleventh Doctor do), or possibly she's taken aback by his post-regenerative trauma. But this feels unnecessary to us when even casual viewers know that he goes a bit dippy after regeneration, and to the fans this is one of the least disturbed new Doctors. He doesn't try to strangle anyone!

…well hardly anyone. …well he pushes them out of a balloon… or doesn’t…

The possible "darkness" of the Doctor comes to the fore in the "third" part of the story, playing with the notion that he might have gone a bit "sixth Doctor" (or a bit "first") when he seems to abandon Clara, only for it to turn out that he's really channelling the "seventh": throwing his companion into peril to "fix" her flaws, make her "better".

Does he murder the half-faced man? The blatant ambiguity here – even before mad woman in the coda hangs a lantern on it – is obviously set up to keep fans arguing forever: did he or didn't he.

But, to coin a phrase, that's not the right question.

Does he steal the tramp's coat? He's distinctly cagey about it; his first answer is an outright lie, and then he says he traded his watch for it. Which may be true. But we know the Doctor steals clothes: the third, eighth and eleventh all raided hospital lockers for their first outfits, and the first committed outright burglary on an (all right, somewhat dubious) merchant in Jaffa. We've just not previously seen him steal clothes from someone who is actually wearing at the time. It's awkward, isn't it, it feels more wrong. And it may be in there precisely to challenge our pre-conceptions about what this alien thinks is moral. That's where ambiguity works.

The final part of the story sees us having come through the change and looking to the future. The Doctor is finally dressed in his own clothes – if you think about it, he's got a change of costume for each "part": first the nightgown (or first Matt Smith's costume before the titles, then the nightgown); then the tramp's coat; then the droid's Victorian suit (and face!); and only finally his own understated third Doctor duds. And he's redressed his TARDIS too.

In a way it's a shame that – in the move between Upper Boat and Roath Lock – they regenerated the TARDIS console room back in "The Snowmen". It means the "redecoration" doesn't have the impact here, doesn’t in fact seem that different at all, ironically, just making it pinker and warmer. Imagine instead going from Matt Smith's original bonkers golden fishbowl to Michael Pickwoad's austere steel engine; that would stamp the new Doctor's no-frills frills all over the show.

And because we're looking at taking what's come before and moving on, we perform that neat little restaging of the "chips" scene from the end of "The End of the World", where Rose and the ninth Doctor first properly bonded, but with the Moffat-twist of the Doctor now being awkward and not huggy. (And while we're at it, it's also referencing "The Hand of Fear" by way of "School Reunion" with Sarah revealing that the Doctor took her "home" but missed a bit, only this time he 'fesses up and Clara is fine, because she's not leaving.)

"Deep Breath" is a regeneration story and thus much more like "The Christmas Invasion" (or for that matter "Castrovalva") than a first adventure like "The Eleventh Hour" or "Rose". And regeneration stories are always a bit weird, as though "regeneration" forces its way into the story, forces the story into being about regeneration. And it ends up pulling in two ways – both about newness and about everything being the same.

Thus change is continuity. And so the metatext become the text.

Sometimes it seems like everything is quotes.

Next Time: Oh look, the quotes continue with a scene from Rob Shearman's "(Into The) Dalek". What would the ninth Doctor say about this voyage? Fantastic…

Featured on Liberal Democrat Voice
30 Aug 15:36

Bits and Bobs ('Deep Breath' 4)

by Jack Graham
It ends with another mysterious woman, another predatory dominatrix older female.  She represents another story arc which we, the viewers, have no possibility of guessing or understanding until the inevitable 'twist' becomes self-evident just before being served up to you on a plate several episodes later than it could've been.

She speaks as if she is one of the audience and saw what we saw.  Like us, she couldn't see if the Doctor persuaded Half-Face to commit suicide or if he pushed him to his death.  Again, a metatextual trick is used as a signifier of the enemy.

Another physical endurance test or test of skill becomes part of the nature of the monster-of-the-week.  The Weeping Angels were based on how long you could go without blinking.  The Sredni Vashtar (or whatever they were called) were based on how long you could go without touching a shadow with your own shadow.  The droids in 'Deep Breath' were based on how long you can hold your breath (a slightly dodgy thing to encourage in the playground possibly).

How much you like all this probably depends on how much you like repetition.

I said:  how much you like all this probably depends on how much you like repetition.

(To be fair, RTD was hardly unrepetitious - how many eleventh episodes ended with robotic things swarming in the sky and swooping down to shoot milling people?  Quite a few, as I recall.)

The business with the droids stealing bodies hooks into the corpse economy of Victorian London, but strips it of class significance.  Rich and poor alike get predated upon.  It's not like in 'Bad Wolf' in which the Daleks harvest the tramps and the sick and the outcasts... and then start feeding on the TV audience which tunes in to watch bodies punished.

The episode has lots to say about faces, and how we acquire them.  The Doctor chooses (unconsciously, presumably) his new face as a way of being honest with Clara and trusting her.  He initially finds it hard to recognise as himself.  Vastra's face is also the key to understanding and accepting her.  You perceive a veil if you are unprepared to see and accept who she is.  The droid has half a face (why couldn't he have become a Springheel Jack-style urban legend called Jack Half-a-Face? - that would've been awesome) because he unconsciously recognises that it is not his own.  He is contrasted with the Doctor and Vastra in that his face is a lie that he essentially rejects despite his attempts to accept it, whereas they performatively reject their own faces as a way of making others accept their honesty.

Vastra's larder mirrors the larder of the droids, their store cupboard of human bits and bobs.  It also mirrors the remark the Doctor makes to Clara about all restaurants being slaughterhouses, and his not remembering her becoming a vegetarian.  (As a longstanding veggie myself, I liked that bit - though his attitude was condescending... but then, let's face it, the Doctor is often morally condescending, and so are vegetarians.)  Vastra's larder is full of human bits and bobs too (its implied) and may even double as her slaughterhouse for killing murderers and harvesting their haunches and sirloin, so to speak.  In this she is quite well assimilated into Victorian society, which totally recognised the supposed propriety of slaughtering those found guilty of crimes and then re-using their bodies.

All this business of dismembered bodies, harvesting, cannibalism, absorbtion and the salvaging of human detritus yet again raises the issue of the rendering of humans as mere meat - a perenniel obsession of Doctor Who.  And also, the intrusion of the machine into the human body, of the product into the producer, of the fetishized commodity back into the human food chain as both child and dominator.

People really don't understand this show at all.  It's like when Shakespeare gets called a 'national poet' or 'sweet swan of Avon' of 'honey-tongued Shakespeare' etc.  He's supposedy a poet of love, romance, patriotism, etc... if you read him, he's actually a poet obsessed with hate, cruelty, evil, cynicism, hypocrisy, bombast, bullshit, selfishness, malignant narcissism, internalised self-loathing and failure.  Doctor Who is supposed by some to be the 'triumph of romance and intellect over brute force and cynicism'.  Wrong.  Firstly, much of Doctor Who doesn't even recognise a contradiction between romance and intellect on the one hand, and brute force and cynicism on the other.  Secondly, the show is absolutely obsessed with entropy, commodification, fetishism, cannibalism, humans as meat, etc... and that's without getting into even more overt obsessions like class, sadism and tyranny.

The droids in 'Deep Breath' are reverse Cybermen.  They are robots harvesting human meat to make themselves human rather than humans creating bionic bits to make themselves robots.  This suggests a echoing universal lack of any Aristotelian perfect mean, a correct middle ground.  There are only equally horrific extremes which converge from opposite directions... at least when you factor in the conflict between the meat that produces (humans) and the metal they produce.  Also implied is a sort of universally unsatisfiable yearning for transfiguration and transcendence.  Everyone everywhere wants to be something else, something better.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.  This is standard liberal hand-wringing, especially when you factor in the soft-Dawkinsian stuff about there being no promised land.  This is partly a new-Atheist-style rejection of religion (with Missy the evil woman claiming to represent paradise) but also a regulation liberal rejection of the utopian as a form of dangerous extremism.  Of course, the utopianism of Jack Half-a-Face is situated within the semiotic scheme of Victoriana and doggerel-Steampunk, so it could be seen as a rejection of the Victorian high-industrial dream of a perfect society acheieved through industry, empire and officially-overseen progress, with morality instilled in thrifty workers and natives via the go-getting top hat brigade.

But he gets impaled on Big Ben... hoist with his own petard?  Confronted by his own values?  Or skewered by the triumphant expression of human (i.e. British and imperial) superiority?
30 Aug 15:30

MY CRITICAL FACULTIES ARE IMPAIRED. I CANNOT READ. MY CRITICAL FACULTIES ARE IMPAIRED. I CANNOT READ.

by Andrew Rilstone
I make a joke comparing Dawkins to the Borg, the Cybermen and the Daleks. ("He's like a rather ridiculous hyper logical robot in TV science fiction serial.")

Someone takes me to be insinuating that Dawkins wants to kill everyone who doesn't agree with him, as due to my use of the Dalek catch-phrase "exterminate". He goes so far as to invoke the blood libel, forsooth.

I read back over the essay, realize that gosh-dammit you could read it that way because I hadn't done enough set-up for the "Dalek" gag. If I had written "exterminate! exterminate" or "ex-ter-min-ate" instead of "exterminate" the ambiguity wouldn't have arisen. I clarify my point, and make an alteration to the text to fix it.

The original critic continues to repeat the original point (which I have conceded) as if nothing had happened.

Some time ago I wrote an essay called "The Impossibility of Argument in the Mind of Someone On the Internet". I do rather wish I'd stopped at that point.

Yes, indeed it is "only a joke"; and yes indeed you can say hurtful things under the cover of "joking". But respond to the joke I actually made, not the one that I have made it clear that I didn't make.  "Ha-ha Dawkins is a bit like a robotic sci fi baddie" not "Ha-ha Dawkins wants to kill everybody in the whole wide world."

Even if you think that the exact letter of the text could be read in the second way, it's not fair to continue reading it that way after I have explained how I intended it to be read. It means you are focusing, at best, on a stylistic problem (Andrew sometimes allows ambiguity to creep into his jokes) rather than on substantive point (Andrew thinks some of the new atheists are ridiculous because of their obsession with logic and nothing but.)

It is a little like arguing with a Dalek about religious texts.

"CHRISTIANS BELIEVE THAT NAUGHTY SCHOOL CHILDREN SHOULD BE EXECUTED."

"Er, no, actually, I have never met one who does believe that."

"CHRISTIANS BELIEVE THAT NAUGHTY SCHOOL CHILDREN SHOULD BE EXECUTED. IT SAYS SO ON PAGE 143 VERSE 16 OF THE APPENDIX TO THE APOCRYPHA".

"But they don't interpret that passage as meaning that, and never have done; in fact, they specifically think that those pages have lapsed."

"AREN'T YOU LISTENING? CHRISTIANS BELIEVE IN STONING NAUGHTY CHILDREN. IT SAYS SO IN THEIR BOOK. IT SAYS SO IN THEIR BOOK. IT SAYS SO IN THEIR BOOK."

See also: flying horses.

Not that the interpretation of my internet essays is as complex and controversial as Biblical hermenuitics, of course.

It just sometimes feels that way.

If we are quoting C.S Lewis, something which we hardly ever do in this forum, surely the relevant passage is from The Four Loves:

"Another time, when I had been addressing an undergraduate society and some discussion (very properly) followed my paper, a young man with an expression as tense as that of a rodent so dealt with me that I had to say, "Look, sir. Twice in the last five minutes you have as good as called me a liar. If you cannot discuss a question of criticism without that kind of thing I must leave." I expected he would do one of two things; lose his temper and redouble his insults, or else blush and apologise. The startling thing is that he did neither. No new perturbation was added to the habitual malaise of his expression. He did not repeat the Lie Direct; but apart from that he went on just as before. One had come up against an iron curtain. He was forearmed against the risk of any strictly personal relation, either friendly or hostile, with such as me. 

Behind this, almost certainly, there lies a circle of the Titanic sort—self-dubbed Knights Ternplars perpetually in arms to defend a critical Baphomet. We—who are they to them—do not exist as persons at all. We are specimens; specimens of various Age Groups, Types, Climates of Opinion, or Interests, to be exterminated. Deprived of one weapon, they coolly take up another. They are not, in the ordinary human sense, meeting us at all; they are merely doing a job of work—spraying (I have heard one use that image) insecticide."

30 Aug 15:19

Coffee naps are better than coffee or naps alone.

Coffee naps are better than coffee or naps alone.
30 Aug 15:18

Robert Lustig argues sugar is poison.

Robert Lustig argues sugar is poison.
29 Aug 17:32

Lock In Through the Lens of Disability

by John Scalzi

Over at Huffington Post, writer David M. Perry takes a look at Lock In, with special emphasis on how disability matters are handled in the book — because, after all, the protagonist is someone who is “locked in” and uses technology to interact with the world. “To my knowledge, this is the first science fiction novel based largely around the complexities of providing reasonable accommodations for disability,” Perry writes.

I’m not sure I would make such a claim myself (the SF field is vast and someone probably has essayed this particular topic before), but I will say it was an aspect of the book that I, as someone who does not suffer from any disability greater than nearsightedness, was well aware was territory that would allow me to show how little I actually knew about it. I expect that there are subtleties that I’ve missed and things I’ve gotten wrong — and I expect I’ll hear about those and see the criticisms about them online.

Which, actually, will be fine, and for which I am ready to take copious notes for when (or if) I ever do a sequel to Lock In. This is a field which I am happy to know more about, from people who have to live in it. In the meantime, Perry’s article seems like a good first response to the novel from that direction. Check it out.


29 Aug 15:04

The Dilbert Strip for 1990-08-29

29 Aug 10:48

Building Critical Masses

by JHSB

Featured on Liberal Democrat VoiceTeamwork by  Yoel Ben-AvrahamI’ve had some interesting conversations recently with fellow Lib Dem activists around the country. Some of them are excited and happy about their activism, some are feeling isolated and miserable. Is this to do with their opinions on a particular policy which is being promoted or ignored by the party? No, it’s down to being part of a critical mass.

Everybody’s engagement is limited by three factors. Firstly, space: the Liberal Democrats are a highly federal party, organised mostly along geographical lines, and mostly run by volunteers. As with all such organisations, from campaign groups to the WI to trades unions, this leads to massive variations in members’ experience, based on the time, energy, skills and motivation of the volunteers “in charge”. As a new member, I never found out what was happening in a local party with a sitting Lib Dem MP because those in charge were poor communicators. A keen party member might never find out about activities and campaigns half a mile down the road because they happen to be across a constituency boundary.

The second factor is time. Activism expands to fill slightly more than the time you have available, if you let it, and people get tired or burned out and move on to different things. This is particularly a problem with Liberal Youth branches which are based around Universities, where most people are only there for 3 years. The other thing that happens over time, and as things change, is that people either forget information or it becomes outdated. The “institutional memory” of a small organisation, other than that required by law such as accounts, can be incredibly poor leading to future activists reinventing the wheels of the past.

The third factor, and the most critical, is motivation. When you feel like a lone voice in the wilderness, or the only one actually getting things done, or like your efforts are being countered by others’ resistance to change, it makes it incredibly hard to feel bothered to do anything. It’s easy to lose heart and give up.

The examples I’ve given are all negative, but there’s an upside – it only takes a small number of Lib Dems, in the same place at the same time, to create a critical mass. I find there’s nothing that motivates me more than knowing that other people are working with me to further the liberal movement. I’m going to say that you need three to really get stuff done. Sometimes you can  use the formal structures of the party to build critical mass, say by forming an executive with particular powers. Sometimes you don’t need to. Sometimes you need to actively work around them, particularly if somebody is being obstructive.

The Internet is great for keeping members in contact and for spreading knowledge and good practice. This is what allowed me to talk to activists from around the country in my first paragraph. It can solve the problem of space obviously, but also time; I’m in touch with former chairs of party bodies I’m involved with and can ask their advise and pick their brains for good practice from before I ever joined. Some of it will be out of date, of course, but it’s mostly very valuable. And it can solve the problem of motivation; by posting about my Lib Dem success stories on social media, I inspire others. I get people asking me for details of things I’ve achieved, who then improve it themselves and share back. I email the local party secretaries around me to make sure we’re all on the same page; I don’t know whether they pass information on to their members but at least I’m doing my bit.

Real life contact is important too. I’m a big fan of Liberal Drinks and other simple socials, just as a way of getting liberals together and talking about whatever they like and seeing what comes out of it. I’m having lunch with two of my fellow local party officers later to catch up, and later I’ll have a cup of tea in another city with an Internet friend and Lib Dem fundraiser par excellence who needs a bit of cheering up. As an extreme example, I’m actively trying to poach good activists from around the country and convince them to move near me. Of course this is in their best interests, but I can’t deny that the thought of the effect on local campaigning has occurred to me.

Conferences, both federal and regional, can be fantastic energy-builders; it’s a great opportunity to meet people, chat with them, discuss subjects you’re interested in, and learn new skills and ways of thinking. Passing policy is important, but it’s far from the only reason to go. You can, with a bit of luck, come away feeling energised and motivated, and then share that around your local party.If we’re going to grow the party and have a stronger liberal movement, then it’s important that we not only stay motivated ourselves, but we create an environment that inspires others to join and get involved, that we build and maintain critical masses. That can involve putting nearby activists in touch so they can compare notes, or cheering up somebody who’s toiling away on their own far away, or writing stuff down for the next Executive to look at, or making a nice cup of tea for your busy girlfriend, or a million other things. Go and put a smile on somebody’s face, and you’ll put a smile on yours too!


29 Aug 10:45

Lord Alfred Douglas, Dirtbag

by Mallory Ortberg

NPG x28098,Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas,by George Charles Beresfordbabe
babe
how much do you love me
oh god
are you in prison again?
no
what?
no
lol that was like one time in france
it doesn’t count as prison if you’re in france
anyhow
what are you doing like right now
I’m trying to finish The Importance of Being Earnest
okay well
stop doing that and sue my dad
what?
you should sue my dad
why would I do that?
he’s been telling everyone you’re gay
I am gay
well but he’s being really shitty about it
everyone’s shitty about it
okay
fine
well then just sue him because he sucks and I hate him
that doesn’t seem like much of a basis for a legal case
oh my god
are you going to sue him or not
all I want is a boyfriend who will sue my dad
I really don’t think that’s too much to ask
a boyfriend who will sue my dad and also come down to the Savoy to bail me out because they keep saying I owe them like £300 for champagne and sex grease
what?
right?
like I brought my OWN sex grease obviously

 

babe come over
are you all right, my ivory poppet?
no
im sick
come over and take care of me

it’s the boys’ first day of school
and Constance’s birthday
come over im dying
all right
I’ll be there
bring champagne

 

sweet Christ, Bosie
the lawyer has produced the letters I gave you in court
how in God’s name did they find their way to his hands?
I told you to burn them
what letters
our — letters of an intimacy, Alfred
ahhh
did u give them to me when I was wearing that velvet suit
I don’t know
I think so
I do think so
because i gave that away
the letters?
or the suit?
i mean both i guess
like the letters were in the suit probably
lol idk i gave that guy a LOT of stuff
what guy?
the sex guy
that one guy who has sex for money
or like one of the guys who has sex for money
hahaha
obviously there’s not just the one
JESUS

 

Bosie, what is this?
um
its my translation of Salmoe i did for you?
SALOMÉ
IT’S “SALOMÉ”
thats what i said
its the version i did of your Salmon in English
youre welcome
do you even speak French
uhh what kind of a question is that
champagne
merde
yes i speak french
what does this sentence mean?
‘On ne doit regarder que dans les miroirs’?
“don’t look in mirrors”
“buy low, sell mirrors”
“a mirror saved is a mirror earned”
IT MEANS
“ONE SHOULD ONLY LOOK IN MIRRORS”
right
something about mirrors
it’s French, it’s all the same thing
oh and not to be a dick or anything by the way
but i havent gotten my translators fee yet??

 

Bosie, are you at home?
yeah
do u want me to CUM OVER
lol
;)

Bosie, I’m ill and Constance is away
could you please come by the house and see me?
ahhh sorry im actually not in town right now?
you said you were going to come over a moment ago
i
say
a lot of things
but
um
im in jail right now
in France
in french jail so
hope u feel better soon babe
get better so we can have sex when youre better and not gross

 

Bosie
Bosie darling, they’re sending me to Pentonville for two years
I must see you before I go
please come
sorry new phone who is this
also like whoever this is I like girls now
I mean I liked them before
just like a heads up
girls: I’m for ‘em
their legs and what have you
all the various bits that make up girls, physically and sexually and so on
big fan
so if you know any girls for sex
send them my way
send them my sexual way
(for sex)

Read more Lord Alfred Douglas, Dirtbag at The Toast.