A Shed Down Under

The Story of Jiko Giman, an Artist who Was Not Similar in Every Way to Everyday People.

2012-02-17T19:42:00.002+08:00

An acquaintance asked me whether I had ever been to Mainz, Germany. I replied that I had, but that was almost forty years ago.

The Cathedral of Mainz,
photographed with a 110-format
pocket camera in 1978.

"So you probably haven't heard of the famous Painter of Mainz?" he said. "You'll enjoy this."

And he proceeded to tell me about a moderately talented and promising young artist from the 2000-year-old German city who, in his earnest desire to paint the world as he saw it, began his career by placing over his head a large cardboard box.

On the inside walls of this big box the young painter created images of everything he could think of, and made them as he believed they appeared in real life. The problem, as you may have anticipated, was that he spent so much time inside his box painting that he rarely took the time to see much of life.

It even became his habit to go walking around the city of Mainz with his painting box over his head, so that he could find new subjects to paint. But unknown to him was a young lady, also of artistic interests, who had been watching him for some time and was fascinated by this rather unusual young man. One day during one of his forays into the streets of Mainz, she decided to try to meet him. She placed herself in his path and waited.

The painter stumbled forward on his habitual round and stopped when he became aware of someone standing in his way.

"Oh - who are you?" he said.

"I'm - I'm Lisl, I'm an art critic," stammered the nervous girl. "What's your name?"

"I'm Jiko Giman," replied the artist. An art critic, huh? I'll paint you." The painter then made an image of the stranger on the inside of his box using his brushes and paints. He gave her red eyes, black leathery skin, lots of bristly whiskers, claws for hands, hooves for feet, a spiky tail, and even added some green, gnarled horns to complete his picture, of which he was really quite pleased and proud when it was finished.

"Can I see it?" queried the girl.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" said Jiko sarcastically. "Not on your life."

Lisl, who did not have horns or hooves at all, and only a few whiskers to speak of, and was actually quite attractive by teutonic standards, ran far from the cruel artist so that he would not hear her sobs of disappointment. Who knows - they might have had a friendship, or maybe even more, if he had only seen the person she really was.

But the artist blithely walked on, painting the inner walls of his box according to his assumptions and judgements of the people and things he encountered. At one place, he discovered there was a crowd of people on the footpath, all apparently waiting for something.

"This is a poor part of the city," he thought to himself. "It's probably a bunch of bums waiting for a handout from a soup kitchen." He then began painting an image of disshevelled, shabby people crowding against the side of the building, some holding bundles of rags, some pushing old shopping carts.

"Hey, you're that artist," said one of them. "Would you like to paint my portrait?"

Jiko did not bother to hide his disgust in his reply, "Get a job, you filthy bum!" He then turned his footsteps elsewhere.

The "filthy bum" raised his immaculately groomed eyebrows, adjusted his tophat, polished his diamond cuff links and patted the theatre tickets in the breast pocket of his tuxedo before glancing at his solid gold watch. "What a pity," he added. "I would someday like to become the patron of an aspiring young artist. I suppose I'll have to find someone else to give my money to."

The young painter, determined still to paint the world as he saw it, continued on his walk, and came to a quiet, peaceful place. He immediately judged it to be a park of beautiful trees, expanses of manicured lawn, and beds of wildly colorful flowers.

"What a perfect scene to paint," he exclaimed. But as he moved forward to find the best vantage point, as he supposed it, he stumbled and fell headlong into the municipal dump.

Lying there among the rotting banana peels and broken microwave ovens, injured but by some fluke still wearing his box, he heard some movement nearby. "My rescuers!" he said. "Over here! I'm injured, come and help me!"

But the rescuers were really a pack of wild dogs that lived at the dump, and they ate him.

Needless to say, Jiko Giman's career as an artist went into a steep decline at this point. There is really not much more to say about him.

So this is the end of the story.

To discover how self-deception could lead to YOUR downfall and subsequent consumption by wild dogs, I recommend that you read this before it's too late:

A Horrid Thing To Say

2012-02-16T21:19:00.002+08:00

"That is a horrid thing to say, and you had no right to say it. You don't know what it's like to lose a child!"

That's what the woman would have said if she had not been giving me "The Silent Treatment."

Girls, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: IT DOESN'T WORK!

The "Silent Treatment" amuses and confuses, but it never has the intended effect, which presumably is to punish a man into recognition that whatever he did was wrong. See, we're not actually all that put out when you ladies don't talk to us, and it is a decidedly ineffective means of giving us any new information or insights.

In this case, the woman who was not speaking to me (well, one of them) was a work acquaintance whom I barely know. The conversation was about a friend of hers who had recently lost two children, one of whom went into a river and never came out again, and the other, her unborn baby, miscarried when the mother was confronted with the surprising and unexpected mortality of her first son.

Yes, it's a terrible, tragic event. Yes, we all feel sadness at that mother's loss. My mistake was not joining the pity-party, as I was expected to do, and taking a little piece of the pain into my own life. As though that would help matters.

Instead, what I did which I shouldn't have done was to say:

"It's possible this could be the greatest thing to ever happen to her."

- - -

Now, I recognize it was wrong for me to say this. It was wrong for me to make a suggestion that the listener was not at all prepared to hear. Is this what is meant by the somewhat unfortunate parable, "Cast not thy pearls before swine?" Unfortunate because I would in no way wish to associate this essentially decent person with "swine." But the meaning is fairly clear. Don't give people things, even precious things, that might do them more harm than good.

Of course I had no sure way of knowing beforehand what level this individual's state of personal growth and awareness would be. I know now.

Was she correct in thinking the things she didn't say? Was that a "horrid" thing to say and am I devoid of human empathy? My assertion is, "No" and my reasons are twofold.

First of all, empathy. I feel real compassion for the mother whom I don't know from a bar of soap. As a matter of fact I do know what it's like to lose a child. My own son was taken from me without good cause, legally, against my wishes and in spite of my every assertion and exertion. I was forced to say goodbye to a child I would never see again, in the sense that he would be inches taller and a person I would not know anything about the next time I saw him.

I see my son about once a year for a couple of weeks. That means I have basically no relationship with him at all, because he does not phone or write me. His mother has neatly excised me out of his life, and I grieve my loss as much as any parent who loses a child.

Not only that, but I go through that grieving, months and months of soul-wrenching agony, all over again every time I say goodbye to him. I will never see that child at that age and stage of development again. Ever. I will have no hand in raising him, helping him, enjoying his life with him, facing problems with him, or anything with him. In another year I will be awkwardly introduced to a completely different young man who knows as little about me as I do of him, and with whom I have no connection.

Do I know what it might feel like to lose a child? You're welcome to disagree, but I think I do know a thing or two about it.

Secondly, I have some reason for predicting a possible Divine outcome from this mother's experience. We can run and we can sometimes hide from ordinary everyday setbacks, we can even take them in stride. But something of this magnitude forces a person to ask some serious questions about life. While I would never want anyone to suffer as I have, it is after all pretty much inevitable that many people will. But suffering doesn't have to be in vain. If the mother is an intelligent person as I assume she is, she will quickly recognize three things.

That this is way more than she ever thought she could handle.

That this amount of grief can't be ignored or just swept aside. You don't just "get over it."

That barring something miraculous, she is about to serve a life sentence of grief and pain.

When someone realizes this, faces reality, does not run from life, run into drugs or alcohol, or escape through some other means, then that is the opportunity that a few lucky, blessed people have in life. This is their chance, because no other option is left, to look for that elusive door to the next level.

And when they have found that door, to open it.

And when the door is open, if she has the courage, she may even go through it.

She will enter a plane beyond sorrow, suffering, grief, conflict or pain. A realm of light and knowledge, a place of pure understanding. Just for a visit, you know. Because the search for that door is one we can never be entirely finished with.

Some teachers explain this event as "dying before you die," and is one of the keys to really living.

When I heard that a mother experienced an inescapably tragic event, I felt a little rejoicing in my heart on her behalf. My reflex reaction to the terrible news was one of hope for her. This just might be the blessing that propels her to discover the door to her own personal End of Suffering.

As for the children, well, their problems are clearly over. I like to imagine that they would gladly have given their lives for their mother to gain something that is worth far, far more than mere flesh and bone, mere matter and form. Infinitely more, and infinitely longer lasting besides.

Dear reader, if anything I wrote here offends you, feel free to give me all the silence you can muster. I think I can take it. And if you broke a tooth on any of these pearls, I am sorry about that. Really.

.

See The Real Australia

2012-02-07T21:57:00.003+08:00

Most people only know about Australia through movies such as "Crocodile Dundee," "Quigly Down Under," or, for some reason, "Australia." Do you really think you can understand an entire nation/continent from a few crappy fictional Hollywood movies?

Well, if you do, you're right. It is an excellent way to learn about Australia, but those aren't the right movies to do the job properly.

If you really want to understand Australia and, like me, you are extremely lazy and like to sit on your fat sofa for hours at a time, then movies are the way to go. And, you have come to the right place, because I have assembled a veritable compendium of the most important Australian movies that accurately portray life in Australia.

What about reading a book, you ask? I tried that once. I got about a quarter of the way through The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia's Founding before falling into a coma. Sooo . . . boring . . . ! But on the other hand, an excellent cure for insomnia, which I used to have but don't anymore. So definitely get this book, by all means.

All "hip" educators understand that everything is easier to learn when it's in the form of a story. That's just how human brains are wired. Furthermore, I feel that anything that isn't making me laugh is just wasting my valuable time on this planet. Therefore I propose the following movies as your best window into the real Australia:

Kenny Follow the epic tale of a blue-collar hero who through dedication and hard work rises to international prominence in his decidedly humble profession. He also overcomes personal setbacks in his relationship to his son and finally meets the woman of his dreams. Specifically, a live woman who will speak to him a second time. Australians all have the ambition to 1) become the best in the world at something and then 2) act as though they don't care. The irony of this movie is on many levels, so see if you can absorb the overarching "meta-irony" of this multi-award-winning film. Best line: "There's a smell in here that will outlast Religion."

The Castle Set in a typical suburban family home, a typical middle-class suburban family fights the defining battle of their lives. This is an absolute must-see and includes a brilliant and award-winning acting performance by legendary Aussie actor Michael Caton who plays the leading role of Darryl Kerrigan. Though fictional, I would rank Kerrigan as one of the pre-eminent Australian philosophers, who gives us such wisdom as "(high voltage transmission towers) are a Monument to Man's ability to generate electricity." There's a great deal of authentic detail in this movie relating to suburban life, middle-class culture, home handyman skills, and the legal system. So watch carefully!

Another tidbit that should interest you: this film grossed over AU$10,000,000 while costing only AU$19,000 to produce. That's a rate of return of 50,000%.

The Dish The plot of this movie, based on actual events, centers around Australia's involvement in the Apollo program in 1968. In America, a movie like this (think Apollo 13) would be a patriotic, serious and heart-warming movie involving patriotic, serious and heart-warming actors such as Tom Hanks. But in Australia, that schmaltzy, maudlin stuff just doesn't fly. Instead, The Dish is a satirical laugh riot. For me the defining moment comes when the Vice President of the United States visits the country town of Forbes, the closest outpost of civilization (such as it is) to the remote radio telescope which is preparing to receive the first ever live images from the surface of the moon. To honor the most important person by far (such as he is) to ever set foot in Forbes, the house band of the town's pub plays what they sincerely believe to be the National Anthem of the United States. I'll say no more. SEE IT!

Rabbit-Proof Fence I only laughed a little at this uncompromisingly serious film, but I recommend it nonetheless. The main theme is Australia's condescending treatment of its aboriginal peoples, not dissimilar to the way the North American Indians were (and are) treated in the United States and Canada. The between-the-lines theme is Government Incompetence, evidenced by attempts to make a fence several thousand miles long to keep destructive rabbits (introduced to Australia by Europeans) out of Western Australia. And their incompetence at managing aboriginal peoples' lives for them. It failed, of course. It turns out, rabbits can actually dig! And small girls can run away from boarding school, ingeniously and courageously making the thousand-mile journey home on foot, using only the you-know-what as a guide. Now THAT's irony only Government can provide.

The Craic Have you noticed that the titles of all good Australian films are just two words long beginning with "The?" Me neither. This film offers you the chance to see Australia from an outsider's perspective as one Fergus Montague from Belfast (played by Jimeoin McKeown) seeks refuge in Australia, the last place he expects to encounter his old enemies and make new ones. Of course, both happen. It wouldn't be much of a film otherwise, now would it. Though not critically acclaimed, this film passes the only test that matters. It made me laugh. Watch for the scene in the world's only topless bar where patrons actually try to persuade the barmaid to put a shirt on, or something, for god's sake.

Malcolm Any trip to Australia should include Melbourne, in my opinion the one really civilized city down here. This movie, set in this scenic city, follows the adventures of Malcolm, an autistic, socially-incompetent genius who finally meets the sort of caring and non-judgmental people who appreciate his special talents. Petty criminals.

As you may have guessed, Australians are not particularly "nice" (meaning delicate) about their humor. Anything is a suitable target, including tragic disabilities such as autism. Americans take such things (and themselves) extremely seriously and are likely to be offended at Australian humor. Example: A well-known Australian comedian says on TV: "knock-knock jokes, not really funny, are they. Be honest. But telling knock-knock jokes to homeless people - now THAT'S funny!"

My advice: get over it. Learn to laugh at everything, then nothing will be a tragedy to you. Far from being mean-spirited, it is actually the kinder and more enlightened way to deal with life's setbacks and unpleasant realities.

Douglas Adams praises Australians as having the most finely tuned sense of irony in the world, and any movie that does not expose you to the Australian sense of humor is doing you a disservice. Their subtlety of satire is often such that the target does not even know that he is a target. You must pay close attention to get most of the jokes.

These movies also expose you to the rich lexicon of the Australian language, which again, you might miss if you're not paying attention.

Is Australia really like these movies? Do Australians really talk and act like this? They say no, but I say yes. Yes, they do, in the same way that an editorial cartoon sketch often tells us infinitely more about a politician than their official press-release photograph does. After living this last decade or so in Australia, I have to say that these movies accurately portray these people and this place in a way that nothing else comes close to doing.

.

In The Beginning . . .

2012-02-02T19:06:00.006+08:00

... God made the earth flat because Man would have great difficulty comprehending it otherwise. And as we knoweth, everything is designed either so Man can comprehend it easily, or so that he cannot know it at all. Thus, if thou findest something is hard, then stop trying to figure it out. Bury thou thy talent deep in the earth lest God be displeased with his servant and smite thee.

2. And it came to pass that He placed the earth at the center of the universe, which at that time was a large glass sphere about sixty and six score cubits off the ground at the highest point, and was ordained with numerous tiny light bulbs that came on at night for decoration.

3. This dideth He lest by any means Man might be scared shitless by the vast, enormous, humongous expanse of empty, violent Space in which the earth, yea the whole earth on which thou standest, is but a microscopic, infinitesimally tiny speck of dust.

4. And it came to pass that Pharaoh and the Egyptians came and sent Eratosthenes to check out this "flat earth" thing and Lo! They discovered that the earth was actually round like unto a ball that was three thousand and seven hundred and four leagues in girth.

5. And this displeased God mightily, who in his wrath caused Egypt to become a dodgy third-world country in modern times.

6. And it came to pass that there arose a man named Johannes Kepler, and he did study the heavenly lightbulbs lo, for many nights studied he them. And there came other men, named Nicolaus of Copernica and Galileo of Florence saying that the data prove the earth was not at the center of anything, and this glass sphere of God's was an illusion that didn't exist.

7. And God saith, "Fine, have it your way." Because it was three against one, anyway, and their data was pretty darn convincing.

8. And on the 3.62004328966 x 10^12 day, God invented an astonishingly complex system of chemistry based on the Carbon atom which was capable of not only replicating molecules but adapting to conditions on the earth.

9. And it came to pass that Moses came, seeking background material for a book he was working on which he called "Genesis," but it wasn't anything to do with the band.

10. And God said, "See thou, Moses, my greatest work is a bio-programmable self-adapting system of biochemistry utilizing a code created from pairs of Guanine, Cytosine, Adenine and Thymine. Behold!"

11. And Moses said, "WTF are you talking about?"

12. And God said, "(SIGH!) Ok, the simplified version it is. Basically, I created the plants and herbs of the field, and the fish and fowl of the waters, and all the barnyard animals male and female created I."

13. And Moses said, "Can I quote you on that?"

Thanks, Kathy, for giving me the idea for this. I learned something really valuable from writing this post. Scripture is actually really easy to write. Because if someone says, "hey, God didn't say that," then you just say, "prove it!" and that's the end of the argument.

Followup: How Clever Are You?

2012-01-28T13:28:00.001+08:00

In a previous post, I asked readers to figure out how a water tank level indicator can be made using just two of the four basic building blocks of all engineering, the Blokian Elements of Rock and String.

I would like to report that the following individuals submitted correct solutions to the problem:

Diana Boredom
Holly N. Likely
Phyllis Steen
Hugh Lyon Sachs
Orson Buggy
Lotta B. Essen
Barbara Seville
Isaiah Prayer
Payne N. Dias
Helen Highwater
Gladys Overwyth
C. Colin Backslash
Cody Pendant
Isabell Ringing
Noah Vale
Frieda Wales
Dave Reckoning
Paul Bearer
Warren Pease
Les Ismore
Ralph Oliver d'Fleur

However, I am unable to do so. Because nobody with a really funny name managed to solve the problem. In fact, only one reader was able to do so at all. "Steve Davidson" (if that is his real name) is a member of the Inventor's Association of Western Australia, obviously highly intelligent, of average weight and height for an Australian, and an excellent driver. Congratulations, Steve!

- - -

The solution? The following series of images explains how little more than rocks and string can be used to make an accurate water tank depth indicator.

Three rocks are connected by two pieces of string. The bars, tree branches or pulleys over which the strings are looped are incidental to the way this depth gauge works, rather than fundamental. Less friction there improves performance, but they aren't central to how this device works.

Two of the rocks are of roughly equal weight. The third rock is much smaller than the other two. Because the the two outer rocks together weigh more than the middle rock, they rest on the ground while the middle rock is suspended.

The right-hand rock is positioned inside a water tank. The middle rock is often concealed inside a tube or pipe. The smaller rock must be visible from the outside.

When water is placed in the tank, the right-hand rock gets submerged. Under water, things weigh less. The two outer rocks combined no longer weigh more than the middle rock. It therefore falls.

As the submerged rock breaks the surface of the water, it starts to weigh more again. At some point, its partly-submerged weight combined with the weight of the smaller rock will exactly equal the weight of the middle rock. This forms a stable equilibrium. By adjusting the length of the left-hand piece of string, the smaller rock can be positioned so that it exactly points to the level of water in the tank. It will then indicate the actual water level at all times as the tank is filled or emptied.

It is so simple that most of you are thinking, "Why didn't I think of that?" While the rest of you are thinking, "I KNEW it was something like that!"

The first guy to really understand this business about things weighing less under water was so excited by his new understanding that in his eagerness to get back to his laboratory he forgot to put his pants on. He ran all the way there in the nutty. This is why today we have the saying, "he is too smart for his britches."

Archie of Syracuse (b. 287 BC) realized that for anything to be under water, it must push out of that space an equal of volume of water. Therefore its weight is reduced by the equivalent weight of the displaced water.

Rocks take up space and are heavy; string keeps things connected. Everything built by Human can be reduced to the four Blokian Elements: Rocks, Sticks, String and Glue. If you understand the way these four concepts work, you can build anything.

.

Finally - Something Useful About Scorpions

2012-01-28T09:24:00.000+08:00

My readers may be aware that I personally have little use for scorpions. This peculiar little quirk of mine sometimes manifests itself in the act of stomping on scorpions with my boots.

Stomping on scorpions is often a futile act. While it does annoy them somewhat, little else is usually accomplished.

But now, Research Engineers in China say there could be something useful we can learn from scorpions: how to minimize abrasive wear of engineered components. In its essence, this paper hypothesizes that since scorpions live in sandy places that sometimes also are windy, this equates to scorpions being frequently sand-blasted. And since there are very few news accounts of scorpions being killed by sand-blasting, they must have some secret to surviving sand-blasting attacks.

And because the researchers are Manufacturing Engineers and not Materials Engineers, the only possible reason that scorpions survive in sandy windy deserts must be the shape of their exoskeleton. Another compelling reason to believe this is that the engineers have some really cool 3D laser scanning equipment that needs to be used.

Is this beginning to sound just a little Bogus to you, too? Did it also occur to you as it occurred to me that scorpions survive sandstorms by - and this is just a crazy, wacky idea I had - Hiding? Is it possible that scorpions, being alive (sort of), might be able to sometimes re-grow parts of their shell that get damaged or sand-blasted?

"No way," said the engineers. "We've got this cool laser scanner that can resolve features down to 0.2 mm. Plus we'll get to mess around with UV lights! Scorpions are fluorescent, you know."

They make an excellent point. As an Engineer, it's what I would have done, too. But as a Scientist, I also have to look objectively at the data:

Notwithstanding the overly-optimistic conclusions of the researchers and that of the press, the data show that the presence of sub-millimeter grooves and ridges on a surface makes erosion worse under some conditions and better under others. At best, if the direction of the abrading medium can be tightly controlled, manufacturing high-wear items with massively expensive tiny ridges could yield a slight extension of service life.

I knew it all along! Damn scorpions are good for nothing.

.

Are You Your Brain?

2012-01-23T09:42:00.000+08:00

Brent Spiner as Data.
© Paramount Pictures, "Fair Use"
under critical commentary.

The 20th century TV show "Star Trek: The Next Revenue Generation" featured a walking talking iphone named Lieutenant Commander Data. Ignoring for the moment that the noun "data" is a plural while there was (initially at least) only one android, a lot of airtime that would otherwise have been dead air was filled up exploring the question of whether Commander "Datum" was really a person, or just an invention.

True to the form of classic Science Fiction, the writers took a strongly Materialist view that if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it must be someone's cell phone ringing.

No! Sorry - I meant it is therefore indistinguishable from a real duck. In the early 20th century before handheld digital devices and their apps were even thought possible, this logic was irrefutable. But by the time TV producers realized that there was money to be made in SciFi again, the question of what made us "us" was further muddied by at least the possibility of some very convincing technology.

Alan Turing, mathematician,
pioneer of Artificial Intelligence,
and an uncanny likeness of Brent Spiner.
No? Well, you humans all look alike
to me. (oops!)

In Geekspeak, Lt Cmdr Data could pass the famous "Turing Test." Ask some questions of an indeterminate entity and see if you can tell by its responses whether that entity is artificial or human. The argument was strongly put forward by Star Trek TNG that if someone's thoughts, reasoning, creativity, relationships, originality, memories and experiences doesn't make him a real person, then what does?

Fair enough. If it works for Cmdr Data, then it should be good enough for you, too. Are you your brain? Is your reasoning the real you? Your past, kept alive in your memory, defines who you are? Limits you and encircles you, and forms the boundary conditions of your future? Is who you are the sum of the opinions that you hold, the information that you can recall, the relationships you have and the people that you know or think you know?

A good number of my readers will answer, "Yes, that is who I am." A minority will answer, "No, I am those things but also much more." And a very small minority, if any, will say, "No, John. I am not my brain, I am not my thoughts, I am not my past or my future. I am ME."

"My brain is just something I use, unless it gets out of control and starts using me, assuming my identity, and asserting control."

"My thoughts and ideas are things I created, so how could they be who I am? '... for shall the work say of him that made it, He made me not? or shall the thing framed say of him that framed it, He had no understanding?'"

"My past is just some things that happened. I am not limited or defined by them unless I choose to be. And I realize that I have that choice."

"Pull harder! Never - stop resisting what is!"

To be mind-identified is in some ways to be trapped in thought. Yes, there are worse things to be trapped in. Or are there? Thinking can get you unstuck from a hole, a net or financial difficulty. But how do you get free of thought? By more thinking?

The ability to do so takes some searching and effort on your part. I do not recommend pharmaceutical shortcuts, which in the end do nothing at all. A starting point for you could be to forgive the day. Every morning and every night, forgive the day. For everything that did or might go wrong, forgive the day. For everything that should have been but wasn't, forgive the day. For everything you are or aren't, and for what others are or ought to be but aren't, forgive the day. Forgive the past and forgive the future too, but make sure to forgive the only thing you ever really have. This day. This is the beginning of what some teachers call "surrender," which is not the same as acquiescing to suffering or negativity. It is merely accepting a situation as it is, as the first step towards changing it.

But to be free of mind-identification is to be able to use thought, memory, forecasting and reason with volition rather than to be controlled by them. To be free of your past painful memories is the freedom to create a new future as well as to create new, liberating and empowering meanings for past events. To be free of fretting about the future is the freedom from fear, worry, stress, and from the almost certain failure that those compulsive mental activities bring.

Being free from your mind's control is the freedom to chose happiness at any time, in any circumstances, while still being able to respond to situations as necessary, plan as necessary, anticipate with pleasure the future, and enjoy the wonderful memories of the past. Freedom from the mind means peace.

It also means being able to learn, to grow, to be teachable like a child again, and to experience the wonder of discovery again. Being free from the mind's control means freedom from old thought patterns, assumptions, opinions, cemented old dogma, and ideas that no longer serve you so well. It means your future is yours to create, and is not cast in rigid stone.

Freedom is the end of suffering, the end of worry, and the beginning of peace. You can have this without giving up any of the good that your mind can do.

I am not my mind. You are not your mind. And that is a wonderful thing.

.

Fighting for Survival

2012-01-21T14:41:00.008+08:00

They say we only grow when we struggle. I haven't weighed myself for a while, but according to that statement which I now elect to interpret literally, I must be about 400 pounds.

Summer is always the most difficult time of the year in the Outback. While Minnesota loses about half its population each winter (most are later found hiding in Arizona), the Australian Bush is something you really want to avoid in the summer. Which ironically is at the same time. So basically, January through March, we're all screwed no matter where we live.

I made it back to The Shed this 100° F weekend and was barred at the door by three large Redback spiders. But they were no match for a stick and a half a can of spray.

Do Aboriginal people go around dot-painting
all the lizards in this country, or what?

Then I discovered that a colony of ants had appropriated an old sleeping bag for their nest. There were signs of mouse activity, and some poison bait had been taken, but no sign of the corpses. I'll bet the ants know where they are. And, strangely, my new box of tissues was completely empty.

No fewer that two weird lizards of the kind shown here were living in the bottom drawer of the night stand where I keep a few extra sheets and towels. It's actually a Thick-Tailed Gecko or Barking Gecko (Underwoodisaurus milii). The lizards, I mean - not the night stand, which used to be an antique until someone painted it green and gave it to me for free. The mice had been in there, too. It's where every last one of my tissues was found, torn up into neat little squares for some reason. I really think mice must be OCD.

A Lizards' Paradise.

And in case you're wondering, Barking Geckos really do bark. They made quite a fuss when I grabbed them with BBQ tongs, plopped them into a saucepan (which I knew by experience they could not climb out of), and removed them to the woodpile away from the Shed.

To top it off, a very large black scorpion was in the Shed, strutting around the sleeping area as though he owned the place. I had my boots off and feet up, reading this exact bookwhen I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I put my boots back on, went over, and stomped on it as hard as I could. It got really angry and tried to ignore me. Must be the female of the species (which is most likely Urodacus novaehollandiae, definitely ultra creepy but not really dangerous).

So then I stomped on it again, even harder. This time, some guts came out and it finally stopped being a scorpion.

Another polka-dotted lizard in a cardboard box for some reason.

The alert reader will have noticed that if I stomped "even harder" the second time, then I could not possibly have stomped "as hard as I could" the first time. Because if that were true, then I would not likely have been able to stomp even harder within such a short time. Did my muscles undergo a miraculous 10-second growth spurt? OK, I admit to the inaccuracy. The first time, I only stomped as hard as I thought I needed to. Which in my defense was pretty damn hard, but obviously not hard enough. I'm sorry.

Because, as the alert reader is also surely aware, this was not my first time stomping on a large scorpion in my shed with my boot. I have a certain amount of experience doing this. And I have to say that this latest one was by far the largest and hardest scorpion I have ever stomped on.

I also discovered that although its carapace appears dark, almost black under normal light, this kind of scorpion glows bright green under UV light. How on earth did I discover that, you wonder? Simple. Being the science geek that I am, I carry a UV light around with me and look at interesting things with it from time to time, when I suspect that the items might be fluorescent. Bark scorpions in my native Arizona (much smaller but much more dangerous than these) are widely known to be UV fluorescent, and this is actually the best wayto find and eradicate them. But the bark scorpion is also pale yellow under normal light, virtually translucent in color, so it was unknown whether a black scorpion would also glow under UV. Now we know that it does. The contrast between its color under normal light versus under UV light is really astonishing!

Flyscreen judiciously applied prevents critters from
living inside furniture.

I will attempt to get photos of this phenomenon next time, but all the heat was too much for my good camera's battery. Which brings up the point I started out trying to make: in the summer, one must work extra hard to keep a place like the Shed from being taken over completely by the creatures of the Bush. And, it's too darn hot to really do very much besides spray a bunch of insecticide all around and wait until winter to try anything more ambitious.

I did manage to do this one thing: I added flyscreen mesh to my antique green nightstand to keep mice and lizards from making it their future home.

If you have a cabin, a shed, a beach house, vacation dwelling, a "granny flat" out back or even a guest bedroom you don't use very often, then I recommend the following precautions:

All food must be in sealed cans, glass jars, hard plastic bottles, or buckets with tight-fitting lids. No food can be left in cardboard boxes or plastic bags. They will be opened and used to support an entire ecosystem.
All sheets, towels, clothing or fabrics must be stored in sealed plastic bins.
The backs and bottoms of dressers, chests of drawers, wardrobes, etc. must be sealed using flyscreen material or thick plastic sheeting (and mice have been known to chew through both).
Something has to be done about the beds and mattresses. But I haven't figured out what just yet.
Gaps, nooks, crevices, and voids in doors, walls, furniture, ceilings and appliances where vermin can nest should be filled with expanding foam or thoroughly sealed up.
All trash must be removed upon vacating the premises (my biggest problem - I keep forgetting to do this).
No water must be left available. Roaches can live a long time on apparently nothing, but cannot survive long without water. Plug drains, empty anything containing water that isn't sealed, and shut off supplies.

Finally, DO NOT feel sorry for them for even a moment. They can, and should, survive just find outside where they belong.

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Words Cannot Describe

2012-01-19T22:25:00.006+08:00

Towards the terminal end of my first marriage an incident occurred which later caused me to explore words and language in an attempt to understand what the hell happened.

On a Saturday morning the three of us (including my son who was 9 at the time) ventured out to the Whitfords City shopping mall to accomplish several errands. We were a little early, and the store we needed to visit was not yet open. My wife said, "It's ten minutes to wait." With the sounds of other shoppers all around and my well-documented high-frequency hearing loss that mainly affects speech decoding, what I heard was this: "It's ten minutes to EIGHT." Boy, how could I have made that mistake?

This startled me because, if true, it would have meant that a temporal shift had occurred of some 60 minutes or so into the past. I immediately looked at my watch, which on that day was the Wenger Standard Issue. Looking at my watch is something I have always found to be both helpful and reassuring during temporal-shift situations.

I discovered it was not actually 7:50 AM, but 8:45 AM. So I said, "No, it's quarter to nine by my watch."

A number of minutes passed without further conversation or incident, until suddenly I realized I was now at the mall all by myself! I looked all around, and my family was gone. I went back to the parking lot where we had left the car, and it was gone, too. So I did what any sane person would do. I went to the food court, found a comfortable chair, and had myself a cheeseburger and an ice cream. Yup, there's nothing like a nutritious breakfast (and that wasn't).

A few hours later, She Who Must Not Be Named returned to find me sitting confused but otherwise content at a table in the food hall of the mall. She had that look on her face. The look that meant I had done something totally unforgivable, and that I was the most contemptible thing on the planet.

I still had no idea what had happened.

Nor did I find out until several weeks later during marriage counselling (what a waste of an hour THAT was!) I learned why I had been left at the mall as a punishment. And incidentally, why enjoying my punishment was a reprehensible, despicable and also very naughty thing to have done.

She explained to the counselor that because I am clearly a moron she had tried to make me somehow comprehend that we had to wait ten minutes before the store opened ("ten to wait," not "ten to eight.") And in response, she recounted, I had called her a bitch. Right in front of everyone at the mall.

Now, why would I say a thing like that? In the context of the situation, it doesn't even make sense. To hear an insult and profanity instead of what I actually said could only mean she was consciously or unconsciously anticipating that I must someday say such a thing even though I had never done so before. So what really happened?

No language, words or sentence is ever totally correct. There is always something not quite right or not fully defined. More words are always needed, no matter how carefully something is explained. Of all the languages, Mathematics comes the closest to being precise in everything it says. But that is what I call a Quantitative language (and there can be more than one), while English, Hindi, Japanese, and Hungarian are examples of what I call Qualitative languages. They are used when discussing qualities, while some system of mathematics must be used to have a meaningful discussion about quantities.

Mathematics begins with some very simple assumptions and builds on them so that eventually, nearly any proposition expressed mathematically can be decided either true or not true, relative to the truth of the initial premises. But even Mathematics has its limitations. For example, the absolute truth of any statement is no more true than the initial assumptions. The starting assumptions are very hard to prove, because what do you use to prove them with? It's like determining how accurate a ruler is if all you have is one ruler.

Ultimately, the assumptions have to be demonstrated empirically. For example, there is a quantity we call "one," and it exists empirically because you can see examples of things of which there are just "one." Same with "two," "zero," etc. Then, you can prove mathematically that if you put the one thing together with the two things then you get "three," and this "three" is identical to the number defined by some things of which there are empirically "three." And so on.

Kurt Gödel at age 20

Another limitation exists, which nobody knew about for a long time. It turns out that no system of mathematics can be constructed that is able to determine the validity of every possible proposition within that mathematical system. In other words, no matter how "complete" you think your system of mathematics is, it will always be possible to propose a statement that can neither be proved or disproved. Just as in Science, there will be untestable statements in mathematics. This is called Kurt Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem (or GIT for short). He proved it (ironically if you ask me) in 1931 at age 25, much to the dismay of mathematicians who up until that point were feeling way too smug about the perfection of their art.

So any language is imperfect. An obvious statement to some, a thunderbolt to others who will likely send me threatening emails in which they misconstrue everything I've said (thereby proving my point). Information Theory (which by the way is NOT "just a theory") tells us that to describe something absolutely perfectly requires an infinite amount of data, whether bits of 1's and 0's, words, sounds, or mathematical scribblings. But usually there comes a point where "close enough" is close enough. We can shrink an image file down to a few kilobytes and it still more or less shows what we needed it to show. With words, we have a far more effective means of maximizing the bandwidth, so to speak, of our voices, blogs and books.

Of course qualitative languages have the added disadvantage that when we discuss the qualities of things (good, bad, blue, hot, mine, Hungarian) these are almost always subjective judgements. They are what each person decides they are. So how is it even possible to communicate at all? On its own, language - even mathematics - isn't enough. One additional thing is needed to make communication possible. The human brain.

In your brain there is a conceptual model of your world with language labels attached to all the various features. It began to form as soon as your cells differentiated enough to make neurons that were capable of making synaptic connections. Your internal model of the world is by no means perfect, and it never stops developing, improving, refining, or adapting. Sometimes slowly, as you gradually get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, or rapidly, as you make an instant correction for a sudden cross-wind while riding a bike.

When I use a word, it obviously doesn't contain within its letters or sounds the entire meaning of the word or even ANY of the meaning (that would take far too much bandwidth and time). Instead, it simply points you to a particular feature of your internal model of the world, like a hyperlink points to a web page. That works if your model is similar enough to mine to have that feature, and it works even better if your version of the feature is pretty similar to the one I have. In other words, if you and I have enough shared or common experience, we can communicate. The more shared or common experience we have, the better we can communicate and the fewer words are needed.

Shared experiences are things you and I have personally done together. Visiting the zoo. Fighting the Ostrogoths. Working at the same company. Common experiences are things we have done separately, but which are largely the same. We may have read the same book, visited the same cities, or once owned the same kind of car.

The internet analogy is really interesting for how inaccurate it is: You have a hyperlink on the screen of your computer, and it retrieves a web page that is outside on the internet that anyone can see, and of which everyone who is now accessing it sees the same version. Language is the opposite. I send you a hyperlink (a word) that links to a web page stored on your computer. I have no idea what is stored on your computer, if anything. I just have to hope that you have linked that word with the same page on your hard drive that I have it linked to on my hard drive. And that the pages are similar enough for what I am saying to make any sense to you.

Then if we, through ongoing exchange, detect a bit of confusion, we can compare versions of our models and argue about which one is correct. If both people are willing to defer to the outside objective reality rather than insist on his or her own internal representation of reality as the correct one, then these conversations are productive and useful. Even enjoyable to someone who loves to learn. Because both participants usually learn something.

So, how can a day at the mall turn out so differently for two people who started out on the same trip? Easy. If they internally model the world differently, every experience will mean something different to each person. In my ex wife's model of the world, we might surmise that there is the belief that men are all jerks and women are victims unless they act angry all the time. Well, it's one possibility: who can say for sure.

In my model of the world, people are generally friendly and just want to know what time it is.

When someone is stressed, feeling under attack, unhappy, or generally out of rapport with you, then regardless of anything you say, they will hear only what they are capable of hearing. Regardless of anything you do, they will interpret it and make a meaning out of it in the way that most reinforces their own beliefs and assumptions. It has nothing to do with you, and there is little you can do about it.

Knowing the extent to which that disease was rampant in the relationship, it is clear to me now that on that Saturday when I sat there at the mall by myself, eating a cheeseburger and wondering how I was going to get home, my marriage was already terminal. It would soon be dead, smelling bad, and in need of a quick and comprehensive burial.

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Do You Need Brains to Have Faith?

2012-01-18T21:24:00.002+08:00

Bogus Religion and Bogus Science are remarkably similar. Both are as easy to do as peeing on your shoe. All it takes is to not pay much attention to what you are doing.

Make shit up, talk a bunch of crap, do whatever you feel like, and Presto! Hypocrisy galore. Or Pseudoscience galore. Your choice.

Meanwhile, effective Religion, by which I mean a truly transformative, elevating experience both to the internal and the external life of the Human, requires far more brains than is popularly believed. For example, to both a brainless god-botherer and a brainless atheist, the idea of Faith means just sitting around wishing for something to be. It is held by those having no real understanding of Religion to be an entirely mental exercise.

I have always rejected this notion. To me, when someone has the conviction of an untestable belief, rather than squint real hard while trying to think about it (or worse, try to convert someone else to your belief in order to feel validated), real Faith means going out and taking action.

Faith is entrepreneurial. If your convictions don't drive you to innovate, then you don't really believe in them. Faith means positive, decisive activity. Do you think someone else going to do it?

Faith is adventurous and willing to try new things in pursuit of making the world a better place according to you. You have as much right as anyone to decide what that means.

Faith is relentlessly creative, full of ideas, and free-thinking. Faith is sometimes revolutionary, even radical, the voice in the wilderness hollering for change. Faith is the very Enemy of Conservatism.

Faith does not seek a return to an imaginary world that never existed to begin with. Nor does it attempt to insinuate itself into the State. It doesn't take a prophet to see that state-enforced religion leads to theocracy, tyranny, fundamentalism, eradication of freedom, slavery and descent into tribalism.

I happen to hold an untestable conviction that the democratic freedoms we now enjoy are a once-in-the-Universe opportunity for us to demonstrate through our choices just exactly what our real values are. The choices must be between real, available alternatives rather than between complying with a law versus breaking a law. If something is a sin to you, pray that it never becomes illegal!!! Because then your non-sin will no longer reflect your deeper values, but will be little more than a lack of opportunity or a shallow desire not to be fined or imprisoned. The future must therefore have far fewer laws, instead of the current trend we are following, a love-affair with laws as the purported solution to any problem, and an accelerating increase in their number, reach and restrictiveness. Where will it end?

If you think abortion is bad, then don't have one. If you disapprove of marriage between two or more people conditional on what equipment they possess, then don't enter such a marriage. The fact that other people have these choices available to them makes your personal choice infinitely more meaningful. And remember, the purpose of life isn't for everyone born or unborn to have a perfect, long and painless existence, to never make a mistake, and to all be the same. That of course is nonsense. We are here to learn. Specifically, we are learning to transcend opposition. That purpose would clearly be futile in the absence of opposition.

Faith has confidence in its convictions and is not threatened by other people having different convictions. In fact, it can only be strengthened when challenged. Just like you or me.

Faith is scientific in its search for solutions to problems, sorting and testing them sometimes methodically, sometimes following a flash of insight. Faith is also egoistic. It does not fatalistically accept circumstances as "god's will." If you believe that your talents are divine in origin, why not expand them and use them to combat disease, poverty, war, unconsciousness, enslavement of the human race, barbarism, cruelty, ignorance, suffering or contempt for life? Assuming of course that these things are contrary to your values. Everything is ultimately divine in origin, but the Divine really wants to know what YOU think. It is awaiting your response to everything it has created!

Is Faith only relevant to deism? The belief in a god? Of course not. Scientists constantly rely on their Faith to get them through the hard work of unraveling entirely natural and testable questions that are far removed from anything supernatural. Recall that belief in the worthwhile-ness of doing Science is itself an untestable conviction. There's plenty of evidence that in the past Science has been hands down and by about a million country miles the most useful thing we have ever done, but no proof or guarantee can be offered that it will continue to be so in the future. We do it because we believe that it will be. Our scientific actions are very much acts of Faith.

If you want to have a real experience with religion, then turn on your brain. Explore the inner world of your convictions, and then put them to the test through action. What will happen? No one knows. Living your life and testing your convictions is something nobody in the history of the universe has ever done before. Good luck!

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Another Amazing Date on the Calendar

2012-01-17T22:27:00.001+08:00

How do we even manage? We've just recovered from the Christmas and New Years double-onslaught of festivity-ness, when this date sneaks up on us. January 19th, one of the most awesome days of the year! What, you haven't heard of it? Allow me to elaborate.

On this blog I would normally drone on endlessly about this being the birthday of people like James Watt (1736), the Scottish inventor who made crucial improvements to some sort of engine and got a unit of power (1 Joule per second) named after himself, or Sir Henry Bessemer (1813) who invented a vitally important process for making steel in mass quantities (before that, steel was nearly as precious as gold). But these aren't the reasons this day is special to me.

General Lee. What? Is there some
other General Lee?

Those observations would overshadow such momentous events as the birthday in 1807 of General Robert E. Lee. And the birthday in 1939 of Phil Everly of The Everly Brothers, the most popular country-rock pair of all times with a world-record 35 Top-100 singles, more than any other duo in history.

Of course where would Country Music be with out the birth on this day in 1946 of Dolly Parton? She's only the most successful female Country and Western artist of all times, and for obvious reasons. Although there have been no confirmed sightings of the elusive Ms. Parton since 1987, locals report seeing a large pair of bosoms occasionally entering or leaving the Parton compound. We can only assume that she is under there somewhere.

Ms. Parton is presumed to be in there,
somewhere. There's no way to be sure.

It's also the birthday of Rock legends Robert Palmer ("Addicted to Love"), Rod Evans ("Hush"), and Jeff Pilson (bassist for Foreigner and Dokken).

One of the great mysteries of the universe occurred on the 19th of January in 1943: the simultaneous birth in Canada of Princess Margriet of The Netherlands (which itself is kind of a mystery), and that of Janice Joplin in Port Arthur, Texas. Joplin is ranked by Rolling Stone magazine as the 46th greatest performer of all times. That feat was accomplished in only a four-year singing career, ending with Janice's death at age 27. Queen Beatrix probably wonders where she went so wrong with Margriet, who isn't even in the Top 10,000 performers of any given minute, let alone of all times. I mean, practically nobody has even heard of her, and she's lived way, way longer than Janice, too. According to the astrologers, she should "in theory" be able to sing exactly like this:

January 19th is believed to be the day in 1938 that General Motors commenced mass production of its first Diesel engine. Fifty-two years earlier on this date in 1886, the first skiing club in the US was formed in Minnesota. And in 1903 on this day the announcement was made of a new annual bicycle racing event in which the riders would pretty much make a complete tour of France. They never have been able to come up with a catchy name for it, so to this day they still just call it the Tour of France.

Diesel = Good.

On this day in 1981, the unfortunately-named Beat Moor applied for a patent on an improved grip for ski poles. Exactly one year later in 1982, patent no. 4311321 was issued for a new kind of electronically-controlled ski binding release mechanism, and in 1995, a world patent by two Germans was published for a new kind of ski boot for some reason. Inventors have been quite busy, blaming their lack of skiing ability on inadequate equipment, when we know that really they're just a bunch of uncoordinated nerds.

But on this day, January 19th in 1912, a patent with the unlikely number 1,111,999 was executed on behalf of some nerd named Thomas Alva Edison for a "Phonograph Record." And on January 19, 1934 at Abbey Road Studio in London, the first ever stereo recording was made that utilized a single stylus vibrating in two directions, thus encoding the right and left channels separately in the same groove. Also on this date in 1988, a patent was issued for a new kind of electric guitar. But don't get too excited: it's pretty much a normal guitar, only in the shape of a fighter jet. No need to throw out all your old ones just yet.

With all these awesome things happening on the same date, it can hardly come as any surprise at all that January 19th would be the birthday of a most unique individual, an incredible skier, mountain biker and outdoorsman, a fantastic husband and father of three amazing kids, an immensely talented photographer, music video producer, musician, composer, arranger and recording engineer, and above all, an excellent driver. Happy Birthday, my friend. You know who you are. I don't doubt that someday everyone else will, too.

Here Come Those Blues Again

2012-01-15T12:04:00.003+08:00

My appreciations goes out to Mike Stone for a fantastic couple of sets at his house Saturday. Thanks to his wife Lynn for the hospitality, to the very talented George for the rock solid and amazingly groovy beats, and all the guys including Harry (guitar & vocals), Malcolm (bass), Jeremy (guitar), and the sax player who lives such a fascinating double-life, it is actually a felony for me to disclose his name. (OK, the truth is I forgot his name. Are you happy?)

This of course is a rendition of T-Bone Walker's T-Bone Shuffle. What, you weren't expecting the Porterhouse Shuffle, were you? The Filet Mignon Shuffle? For that I'm afraid you've come to the wrong blog.

And finally, from one of the greatest blues artists living or dead, BB King's The Thrill Is Gone:

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Educating Australia's Children. With Slogans!

2012-01-13T23:26:00.004+08:00

For reasons I won't go into here, I've been staring at the logos and school mottoes of a lot of different schools lately. They are seen on the uniforms that almost every Australian child must wear, screen-printed onto a tee-shirt in the case of government and low-rent private schools, or embroidered onto snazzy wool blazers in the case of your more exclusive private schools. Most are the products of design-by-committee, in particular the type of free-thinking, revolutionary committee dedicated to the visionary cause of not offending anybody ever. Although one catchy design featured a cleverly drawn bat and a redback spider. A boys' school, obviously. The mottoes are usually along the lines of "A Commitment to Courtesy" or "Passing The Time Together."

But this particular design caught me off guard, and caused a minor argument (a very, very limited armed regional conflict, actually) about what it was. You see, the following is a photograph of an actual Kangaroo Tick, an eight-legged blood-sucking parasite:

Kangaroo Tick.

And this is the logo of a certain Australian school located in a suburb near Perth:

Kangaroo Tick?

To my mind it is a representation (although poorly drawn) of something that clearly has eight legs and bears a more than passing resemblance to a blood-sucking parasite. Just what are they teaching the children, I wonder?

But I was shouted down by those present on this occasion, all of whom claimed that it was really a Banksia cone, and I was looking at it upside down.

My contention was that the motto gives it away: "Friends Growing Together." Clearly the authors are referring to the fact that a tick is like a little friend that grows and grows while burrowing its head into your flesh. My opponents contended that a Banksia flower grows also, and has the added advantage of not being a completely disgusting and horrible parasite.

Banksia flower. I personally don't see the resemblance.

This is the type of Rorschach test that demonstrates once again that what we see has much more to do with what's behind our eyes than what's before them.

- - -

In any event, the following are some of the school mottoes I have recently come across. I swear I am totally not making any of these up (except maybe a little).

Preparing Children for Future Disappointment.

Where Self-Expression is Complusary (a government school)

Learning to Love The Love of Learning Love. (a Montessori school)

Obey The Nuns. (self-explanatory)

West Sydney Community School: Teachers Telling Children What To Do All Day.

How About a Little Respect Here for the Teachers' Union (government school in a Labour electorate)

Sitting Quietly at our Desks for Christ's Sake (a Christian school)

Excellence - Achievement - Status (an Exclusive private school)

Nepotism - Graft - Corruption ( a Very Exclusive private school)

This COULD be the logo of almost any primary school.

A Big Bunch of Children (a school where the staff have pretty much given up)

Learning to Judge One Another (a Methodist school)

"I Went to Meekatharra Primary School and All I Got Was This T-Shirt"

Innaloo Primary School. We'd Change The Name if They'd Let Us. (The suburb of Innaloo really exists - I did not make it up)

Mansion Hills Estates Private College. If You Have to Ask, You Can't Afford It.

Diversity Through Conformity. (another PC government school)

Back To Basics: Reading, Writing, and Understanding Welfare Department Procedures

Wendsleytondaleshire Acadamy. Your Parents Probably Work for Our Parents.

Children Are Your Future, Retirement is Our Future.

Building a Future Wastewater Plant Together (an alternative school where children learn by doing)

"Does a Motto Cost Extra"

A School that Contains Creativity and Fun (could be read two ways - think about it)

If you are ever in charge of coming up with your school's motto, remember that you cannot disguise the truth. People like me will see straight through it.

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Why Do Things Sometimes Happen?

2012-01-08T10:25:00.002+08:00

I once asked a great Zen Master, "Why do things sometimes happen?"

For example, why does my Ethernet-over-power network adapter suddenly stop working for no apparent reason? And then why does it flash all its indicators simultaneously? Why does unplugging it and then plugging it back in again not work?

Why do both the reset button and the pair button fail to have any effect whatsoever? And I'd also like to know why when I plug it back in a third time all the lights ominously stay off this time.

Finally, there's one more thing I'd really like to know: why does plugging it in to a different socket causes it to explode with the loudness and the flash and sparks and the smelly smoke and the "ow my ears are ringing?"

Electronics FAIL. Network FAIL.

"WHY?" said the master. "You want to know why?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked me again.

"Um... I thought I did but now I'm not so sure . . . ," I hesitated.

But the master continued. "To the question of Why, I give you this answer:

"Well, why not?"

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I Have a Theory!

2012-01-05T20:00:00.004+08:00

... that someday little boys and little girls
all over this great nation will
understand SCIENCE!!!

The way we use the word "theory" is tripping up a lot of people, leading them to loosen their grip on reality while embracing utter gibberish. Among non-scientists, virtually every single person that I have ever met (and couples too) had a very deeply held and very regrettably false notion about what a theory is. Even some scientists I've known were a little vague on the concept. Maybe it's Science that doesn't actually know what the word means. Well, that's one theory.

Is it possible for a word to have one common definition that everyone knows, and also have a completely different meaning within some specialized field? Impossible! Never in the totally logical English language could something as confusing as that ever happen.

Think of the word "bouquet," meaning sort of a big wad of flowers. If you are a wine connoisseur, you also use the word to mean a profile of aromas belonging to a type of wine, which has nothing whatsoever to do with flower arrangements. Or, what about the word "mouse?" It used to only mean a small and pesky animal, or perhaps an overly-timid person. There ought to be a law that states the IT industry must come up with its own names for things rather than stealing words that already mean something else. Also, consider the word "thong." On second thought, let's not.

Here's one: Dog. Normally, it means a four-legged device for converting all that annoying excess cash in your house into valuable noise and poop. But in manufacturing, a dog is a device used for turning a piece of metal that is mounted between centers rather than clamped in the chuck of a lathe. In Australia, a dog is also a component used in rigging for attaching lift chains or slings to a load.

Another one is "attitude." Most of us associate this word with something that a teenager carries around with him wherever he goes, generously sharing it with the world. In aerospace, it means the orientation of a satellite or craft relative to a fixed reference such as the earth's axis, the horizon or another vehicle. How hard is it to believe that sometimes words have technical meanings that are unrelated to their common usage?

Let's look at the word "theory." It is commonly used to mean almost any thought or hunch that occurs to someone on the spur of the moment.

"We're not lost, I have a theory on how to get there."
"I have a theory that the new guy is behind all this."
"In theory the two of us should be able to move your piano, no problems."
"Well, that should have worked in theory, but don't worry - I can fix it. Um, do you have any piano glue?"
"That didn't work. Let's try a new theory."
"What's your theory on how the roof of my car got this large piano-shaped dent in it?"

We also use the word to describe the whacked-out fantasies that mentally-ill people often indulge in: "Conspiracy Theories."

Do you see the pattern? We normally use the word "theory" to mean ideas which have a high coefficient of Bogosity and which are almost certainly NOT TRUE.

But how does Science use the word "theory?" Let's answer that by looking at a few examples.

A Scanning Tunneling Microscope
image of individual carbon atoms

The Atomic Theory of Matter. Why do chemicals combine to form new substances only in specific ratios? Why can "elemental" substances always be returned to their original state even after being used repeatedly by multiple processes? Why can those elements never be turned into other elements through chemical processes? Why can soap bubbles and oil films be stretched only so thin before they break, even under perfect conditions? Why do tiny particles suspended in liquid appear to be jostled and jiggled as if under constant bombardment by an unseen crowd? These observations and many more lead to the discovery that all matter consists exclusively of atoms of various species. In the last three decades, we have even been able to see individual atoms using advanced imaging technology. Scientists call the discovery and its subsequent advances "the Atomic Theory of Matter." It is arguably responsible, ultimately, for every modern convenience you enjoy. Every manufactured item and piece of technology you own works because of atoms and our exquisitely detailed understanding of how they work. Would you say it is "just a theory" or that it is possibly not correct?

Tuberculosis bacteria.
Photo: Janice Hanley Carr,
Public Health Information Library

The Microbial Theory of Disease. Before it was discovered that bacteria, viruses and other microbes were responsible for infectious diseases, you had a life expectancy of just 47 years, IF you even lived past two years of age, which 50% of children did not. This discovery lead to changes in the way we eat, drink, bathe and treat illnesses. And those changes have made your life the long and pleasant stay on this planet that it is. You can even watch microbes in the very act of causing disease using a microscope. Do you think this discovery is perhaps only one possible explanation among many? Or that the microbial theory could someday be overturned or repealed by some more popular "theory?"

The Theory of Powered Flight. Before the Wright Bros. you might have been forgiven for saying this was "just a theory." You would have been more correct though to call it the hypothesis of flight, because "theory" is only used in science after an idea has been proven. Scientists don't use airplanes to argue for or against the theory of flight, they use the theory of flight to build better and better airplanes. Do you believe in airplanes? Do you believe that they can really fly? Or is it "just a theory?"

Electromagnetic Theory. In the 19th century, people discovered that electrical currents create magnetic fields, and alternating magnetic fields can make electrical currents. Eventually it was proved that light itself is electromagnetic in nature, comprising a vast spectrum of wavelengths from x-rays to visible light to radio waves hundreds of miles long. Every piece of electrical and electronic technology you own today owes its existence to Electromagnetic Theory. This theory was not formulated in the mind of some philosopher, but was discovered experimentally over about eight decades. And now, your cell phone works today because Electromagnetic Theory is actually true. Otherwise, your phone could not possibly work. Is the existence of your smartphone "just a theory?" Or must there be some underlying truth in Electromagnetism that enables technology to do what it does - use electrical power to process and display information and to connect using the electromagnetic spectrum?

You may have noticed that Science uses the word "theory" in way that is very different from the word's common usage. In science, "theory" means a) observed facts that have been confirmed repeatedly and precisely, and; b) the underlying truth that unifies a large body of evidence; and, c) the system or means of correctly interpreting measurements, and of making exact predictions.

A theory is more than a model, because as long as a model re-creates observations, it doesn't matter what the model does or looks like on the inside. But a theory needs to closely resemble if not exactly describe reality in its inner workings. Only then can a theory fulfill one of its major requirements, which is to make predictions of the existence of phenomena that had previously not been observed or considered. The predictions must be quantitative (how big, how fast, how heavy, how accurate, how many) and the phenomena must have a natural cause.

One common misconception is that theories are frangible, temporary constructs. This arises from the common usage of the word, being a mere thought, hunch or expendable idea. But it is simply not so. Scientific theories take time, often decades to become established, and once established, they are with us forever. Theories may become refined as science progresses and sometimes circumscribed by limits as those limits become understood. However, once true, always true. All the experiments that confirmed a theory as correct cannot have their results altered retroactively.

Contrary to popularized accounts, Newtonian physics was not "overturned" by the discoveries of modern physics, namely Relativity and Quantum Mechanics. Sorry, it just never happened. What really happened was that QM and Relativity confirmed everything about Newtonian physics, and then placed practical and fundamental limits around it. Within those limits, which include the realms of virtually all everyday experience, Newton's Laws of motion and their implications are for all intents and purposes still totally correct.

The Atomic Theory of Matter was fully confirmed when we discovered the inner-workings of the nucleus. We then discovered that it was limited to temperatures and pressures significantly lower than, say, the interior of a sun where atoms break down and exchange important pieces of themselves. But it's still true: absolutely everything we normally interact with is made up of atoms, and atoms still function in the manner described by Atomic Theory.

Another misconception is that you can never really prove that a theory is true. Again, wrong. You are probably thinking of "hypothesis," which is a kind of precursor to a theory, but is usually very limited in scope whereas theories are very far-reaching. And while it is technically true that a hypothesis can only be rejected with certainty, in practice there are ways around that. Experienced researchers know how to formulate a hypothesis in a way that answers the relevant question.

The theories discussed above are more than mere hunches that can't really be proven for certain, but are examples of profound truths that have been discovered through discipline, hard work and inspired genius. So before reading the advanced science manual, be sure to first master the vocabulary primer.

- - -

People today will swallow all sorts of patent nonsense without blinking, but view anything called a scientific theory with uncharacteristic skepticism. I think I know why. Nobody, you see, has ever called Ass-trology "just a theory." Silliness like that which is completely made up, 100% randomly generated horseshit with no basis in reality whatsoever is presented not as a theory, but as certain knowledge. Shakespeare was wrong: a rose by any other name would have to be marked down significantly at the supermarket. Branding is important because gullible people believe in brands.

Scientific theories are not, as people assume, merely pulled out of someone's you-know-what. They are discoveries that are thoroughly investigated, tested, pulled apart, analysed literally under a microscope for any flaw, inconsistency, inaccuracy, unexplained blip, or artifact of the methodology. And only when the basic facts of the situation are established beyond any doubt is a scientific discovery crowned with the title of Theory.

In the field of science, that word is applied to mean more than a discovery, more than a model of reality, more than a unifying system. In short, "theory" means The Truth.

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The Blind Labelmaker

2012-01-02T11:50:00.005+08:00

In the study of ideas, there is a never-ending plethora of -ism's. We have Existentialism, Materialism, Nihilism, Marxism, Skepticism, Atomism, Infinitism, Fundamentalism, Coherentism, Solipism, Empiricism, Rationalism, Realism, Idealism, Nominalism, Conceptualism, Structuralism, Poststructuralism, Modernism, and Postmodernism. There are many other -ism's, besides.

As necessary as they seem, there are problems with these labels. We seem to need them because you can't think about something unless you can name the thing. Or can you?

It is possible to think without words, but it's really really hard. Trust me. Even I wasn't able to do it until I had learned at least one second language. Then one day I found I could manipulate ideas in my head without having to refer to their labels in either language. Translating from one language to another isn't simply replacing English words with the equivalent words in, say, German. It doesn't work. You must get the thought expressed by the English sentence into your head, and then re-express the thought in your own words in the context of the German language.

(By the way, if you want to understand how a nation thinks, what they believe without even knowing they believe it, and what values they unconsciously, implicitly hold, then learn their language. All those things lie hidden in the words they depend on for thinking and without which most people cannot think at all. And even then, people only think things that their limited vocabulary allows them to think. If you can't be bothered to learn a second language, then at least learn as many new words as you can, so as not to be limited in the things you are able to think about!)

In any case, that's why there are so many words to describe ideas. The problem as I see it is this. When a philosopher thinks up a new word - creates a new label - and people begin to hear of it, the whole world suddenly gets divided into two parts: things that are described by the new label, and things that are not. In effect, each new label is two labels: the thing and its opposite. That part of the universe that belongs within the new label, and that part which does not belong.

Further, people silently think (without choosing to do so - it's automatic) that everything covered by the new label is the same in some important way, and everything outside the new label is the same. Without active opposition, the world becomes very monochromatic (look it up - that's your new word for the day).

These labels are often compared to theories in science, but in fact they differ significantly from them. Both might be described as a model of reality, useful only to the extent that they reproduce what we can observe. And so we understand that the world isn't actually divided up into everything that is Existentialism and everything else that is not, yet it is occasionally useful to model the world in that way. But a scientific theory is much, much more than a model, a black box the interior of which is irrelevant as long as it produces useful results. No, a theory in its inner workings must closely resemble reality as much as possible, and not just simulate observable phenomena. Only then can a theory also make accurate predictions of as-yet unknown, unanticipated phenomena.

Another challenge posed by these labels is that new, original ideas are easy to dismiss by lumping them into an old label. "Oh, that's just old-fashioned Modernism." (Wait . . . what?) It's the fastest way to end a conversation while maintaining an illusion of triumph.

Which leads me to wonder why people so often misuse impressive-sounding labels. Do people throw them around in order to have that feeling of exclusivity or supremacy? Are they so completely unaware that the real effect is to cover themselves in snootiness?

Until recently, that is precisely why I had very little use for the oft-misused and inherrently imprecise terms of Modernism and Postmodernism. By implication, there is a third, "none of the above," or Premodernism for short. (Does this cover all the possibilities, I wonder?)

Then, the day before New Years' Eve I had a long, relaxed chat with a Philosopher and father of two, who in a previous lifetime was a Geophysicist, a Corporate Consultant, and Environmental Activist. He knew how to use these particular labels in a more productive way: as shorthand for discussing without judgement various styles of thinking that roughly correspond to the Graves' Values Levels which were developed as a part of what became known as Spiral Dynamics© in the 1970's. They also correspond inexactly to Robert Bly's seven layers of the male personality.

Essentially, individuals and groups utilize systems of values or styles of thinking which can be identified and predicted. There exists the possibility of movement or progress from one style to another. This leads to the erroneous assumption that such progression is a goal to be achieved, with under-achievers to be pitied and sometimes harangued. My friend by contrast used these concept labels without judgement or condescension.

One of the many things I learned was that someone who skips over or does not completely integrate the useful foundations of one level can appear to be operating on a higher level while actually being quite dysfunctional. He or she will have some significant blind spots or character flaws. A Modernist, for example, might identify himself as an Athiest or a Skeptic (though there's nothing inherently wrong with that - an untestable belief chosen individually). Modernists also reject much of what might be called Premodern thinking: superstition, unquestioned obedience to authority (basically anyone in a uniform or sufficiently impressive hat), conformity, tribalism (including racism and tribal morality - right and wrong are defined as relative to what's right for the Tribe), and ostracization of anyone who seems different. A Modernist for example will usually not belong to a church or identify with a particular religion.

But in rejecting Premodernism, some important parts of an individual's operating system are often written over. Children awakening into Modernism at increasingly early ages might for example fail to develop a system of personal ethics because they were not first exposed to any form of group ethics. My friend expressed what to me was quite a novel but obvious idea that Premodern (or if you prefer Level Four or Blue Level) organizations like churches and schools have the responsibility to nurture people within the values systems in which they currently operate, while keeping a door open for individuals who are adequately prepared to move through it. In other words, they might also allow for the possibility of transcendence.

A striking example was shared in which a postmodernist teacher, a self-described Enlightened being, came to Australia to speak to an interested audience. Towards the end, a participant asked the question, "Does having children assist or retard a person's progress toward enlightenment?" The answer was, "Enlightenment is impossible if you have children. They only get in the way of your growth."

This was glaring evidence of a gaping hole in this supposedly enlightened, Level 7 individual. The archtypical Premodern experience of raising children, of procreating, is actually one of the most powerful catalysts for personal growth and transcendence on many different levels - as an individual, in one's capacity for love, sacrifice, compassion, leadership, - in the ability to act decisively, and in one's ability to experience and rise above pain, loss, empathy, anxiety, need and attachment - as well as growth in the more indefinable spiritual or existential capacities. Raising children is not the Premodernist error or fools' roadblock that our "enlightened" teacher took it for, but rather an opportunity that comes along for a few lucky individuals to experience unheard-of new plateaus in this lifetime.

Later there were rumors that this same teacher had been taking undue advantage of his female acolytes, further indication that he had unwisely skipped a few important steps in his personal development. Enlightenment isn't a destination, it's a journey. If you think you're there and you stop moving, you aren't there.

That brings to mind one last problem with the over-reliance of labels. Did anyone realize they were Premodernist until someone invented the word Modernist? If someone is aware of the label Postmodern, doesn't that make him automatically something beyond Postmodern for which a label has not yet been produced? Having a label to hang onto might actually trick us into thinking that we are something which we are not, or that we know more than we really do.

We might be compared to a Blind Labelmaker who busily affixes stickers to boxes at random in an unlit warehouse. If we quickly slap a new -ism onto every idea and individual without actually examining the contents, of what value then are the labels?

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Science v Religion, Round Two

2012-01-01T19:32:00.004+08:00

Like most people and places that aspire to be self-sufficient, The Shed must deal with a wide variety of topics under its corrugated iron roof. It is both a place of work and a place of reflection. I not only go there to solve the practical problems of my life (using science) but also the more existential problems of meaning, purpose, and that which the Buddha is pleased to call "the end of suffering." Because I've had my fill of suffering and anguish. Being me isn't just all groovy calculators and engineering awesomeness, you know.

I've written previously about why Science and Religion have nothing whatever to do with each other, and why they need to just stay right out of each other's way. Today I'm going to most likely confuse the hell out of everyone by explaining how Science and Religion are compatible, even inseparable. How can two diametrically opposed systems exist simultaneously inside one brain? Simple: they help each other.

Well, they do in my case anyway.

Religion Prepares You For Science

My experience growing up in a household of more-or-less devoted members of a specific religious faith has prepared me for a career in Science like nothing else could. The beliefs and habits I acquired have made doing science at a high level of excellence practically second-nature to me. Here's a few of the concepts normally associated with religion which are also essential traits of the most successful Scientists on the planet:

Humility. I don't know everything, so let the Data do the talking and let them say what they will. I am not infallible, so my results will need to be replicated before even I will believe them.

Hope and Faith. New discoveries can take time and are not guaranteed. Patience is essential, as is a firm unshakable belief that doing Science is worthwhile, even when the practical applications are not immediately apparent.

Absolute Integrity. There is nothing to be gained in the long run by fudging that data. You will be found out, and then never trusted again.

Discipline and Obedience. Once you design an experiment, follow the plan exactly, never wavering or varying from that which is written. Otherwise the data will be corrupt and your time wasted.

Remain as Teachable as a Child. The church I belong to accepts continuing divine revelation to correct past errors and provide new instructions from time to time. This requires flexibility of thought and adaptability to new realities. In Science, new things are constantly being discovered and scientists must always be learning, must adapt and accept, or be left behind. There is never the luxury of wallowing in some decaying old dogma. Which sounds pretty dreadful when you think about it. (Yuck!)

Go To Church. Without a community, a scientist working alone can do very little of consequence. He or she needs the support, encouragement, wisdom, correction, insight and assistance of the community. Successful scientists either learn to get along with others in their field or they find another field. They learn both to give and to receive.

Break Away From Church. The truly exceptional scientist is capable of visions which transcend the current understanding of his peers. He must be prepared to break with his church and go up to the mountain where he will stand alone, toe-to-toe, face-to-face with the naked truth of the universe. And then he must return from the mountain, proclaiming his vision. Though scorned and doubting, if he has truly seen the universe, he can never give up his calling as a prophet of a new age in science. But beware the false prophets: their results cannot be replicated.

Science Prepares You For Religion

Wonder and Amazement. As people gain experience in a grown-up world of complex ideas and facts, they usually outgrow the limited, cartoon version of God with which they were raised. But if someone is exposed to the real universe - everything from subatomic particles to superclusters of galaxies, the amazing variety of ever-evolving life on earth, and the astonishing elegance of chemistry, physics, mathematics - it becomes very difficult to accept that simplistic Sunday School version of God. That's why at a fairly early age I rejected the cartoon and began to view God as infinitely more wise, complex, intelligent, majestic, self-restraining, and having unimaginably grand vision. The more I learned about science, the more awe and humility I felt toward my version of God.

As I came to understand the individual and untestable nature of such beliefs, I began to think of God not as hiding in the gaps of our knowledge of the universe, slinking undetectably between what we know and what we can only guess, but as dwelling entirely outside the testable, objective universe and therefore not subject to our probes and probing. While many have long since given up believing in the divine nature of creation, I have not. Is this in spite of or because of an in-depth, detailed knowledge of the empirical universe?

Standing for Truth versus Falling for Anything. Training as a scientist has prepared me to take an empirical approach to religious teachings and teachers. All are not equal. An idea, doctrine, teaching, or particle of wisdom must pass certain tests that I design for it before I give the matter further consideration.

The idea must be at least self-consistent. Illogical gobbledygook has nothing to offer, in my opinion. I'm not interested.

The idea must be consistent with other beliefs which I hold. Of course a compelling new idea with at least some supporting suggestive evidence will cause me to question my existing beliefs. I must either confirm their soundness or evaluate whether they can be adjusted to accommodate something new of obvious value.

The idea must have acceptable extensions, conclusions, corollaries, and implications. In the world of ideas it is important to watch where you are going and stay off those slippery slopes on which others have come to grief. A thorough knowledge of history and the history of ideas is really useful here.

Finally, if a new belief has made it this far, it needs to be tested empirically, experimentally, to see what fruit it bears. This means making objective, dispassionate observations, being perfectly honest with one's self, and a willingness to admit being wrong once in a while. All things that well-trained scientists do.

People are often all too willing to believe anything, as successful con men well know, including TV preachers and leaders of churches that have making money as the reason for being. Not that there's anything wrong with making money, but how do the punters know they're receiving anything of value?

Simple. Teach people to apply the Scientific Method. Just like Jesus did.

Science v Religion is a question that will never be put to rest, because they are two of the most extraordinary human preoccupations that help define who we are as self-aware beings. Improbable beings in a most astonishing universe!

The Good Life

2011-12-27T15:37:00.003+08:00

In Australia, both Christmas Day and Boxing Day are public holidays. If either of them occurs on a normal working day, you most likely get a paid day off. If both occur on normal work days, you get TWO paid days off! Lucky!

I have no idea what Boxing Day is about or what you're supposed to do (Pack away your Christmas decorations? Re-package gifts that you are going to return? Punch people with over-sized novelty gloves?) but what was once good fortune is now considered an entitlement. If either Christmas or Boxing Day occur on a weekend (like it did this year), you not only get the day off, but you also get another paid day off to make up for the fact that Sunday was going to be a day off anyhow. If that same logic is followed indefinitely, people will want an additional paid day off if a public holiday doesn't fall on a weekend, to make up for the additional day they would have gotten if it had been on a weekend, et cetera. Employers will soon have to pay people to never work at all, just like in France.

In any event, that's why on a completely ordinary Tuesday two days after Christmas that wasn't any particular Holiday other than my brother's birthday (he never did have very good timing), I was up at The Shed relaxing and taking it easy.

There I was, lying in a hammock, sipping an ice-cold vanilla Coke, the bright sun warming me, the green Jarrah trees (Eucalyptus marginata) shading me, the cloudless deep-blue sky calming me, the breeze gently rocking me, the spiders in their enormous webs overhead alarming me, and I thought as I absently flicked away yet another kangaroo tick that was crawling up the leg of my jeans, "You know, John, life just doesn't get any better than this."

I honestly wished at that time that every guy in the world could be having such a peaceful, relaxing experience. They'd most likely be consuming beer instead of cola, however.

Before coming to Australia, I never had to explain my abstinence to anyone. In the USA, being abnormal is much more . . . well, "normal" isn't right, so I'll say "usual." But here in Australia, not drinking alcohol is so unusual it can never pass unnoticed and I am constantly having to explain myself.

People assume I must be either Muslim, Jehovah's Witness, Mormon, an extremely committed Methodist, in the Baha'i faith, or possibly a High-Initiate Eckist. Because nobody would ever choose to not have alcohol if it were entirely up to them, would they?

Not so. I knew an athiest once who didn't drink either. He said he'd spent too much of his life trying to learn things and get smarter, that he'd be buggered if he was going to go pouring stuff down his neck that might undo even a little of his hard work. Especially something like beer that doesn't even taste good anyway.

He also said that too many men cower behind some religion to justify their actions for which they lack the moral courage to take responsibility themselves. If you're going to do what you believe is right, he said, do it because you believe in it, not because some church says you have to. "Never let religion prevent you from doing the right thing." Funny, that I should learn more about religion from an atheist than I ever learned from anyone else.

That got me wondering. Can religion cause someone to lose his individual moral compass? I once asked a staunch believer in a minority Christian faith what he would do if the leader of his church ordered him to blow up a bus full of children. I became extremely alarmed simply by the delay in his answer, which I forestalled after a moment by saying, "Great Gilligan, man! You don't seriously have to THINK about that one, do you?"

Rather than a firm and definite "no," his answer was a cowardly, "it depends." Mind you, his own church adamantly espouses a doctrine of free agency, a person's responsibility for his own actions, and the commandment not to kill people. Could he really have been absent from Sunday School on all the days those items were covered? The Superbowl is only once a year.

Or are beliefs in leaders' infallibility, absolute conformity, and moral relativism just that much more attractive to people, even to members of a church that explicitly denounces all three of these tenets? Why even be in a religion if you're not going to believe anything they teach? It couldn't possibly be that some people do not want the responsibility of making their own choices, could it?

- - -

I have a particular belief that I create my life, through my thoughts, actions, inaction, and choices. I can't prove that this is literally true for everyone all the time, and it seems like an awful lot of responsibility for a person to have. But having this belief makes me more empowered, helps forestall feelings of helplessness and depression (see this scientifically tested book by Martin Seligman) and rouses me into activity like no other belief I have. So I choose to believe it without further need of proof.

At times like today when life is as good as it gets (and when I focus more on the blue sky, green trees and sunshine than on the spiders and ticks in my life), I get the feeling that I might have made an OK choice.

Happy New Year to all my readers! Make your 2012 the best one ever.

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Christmas In Australia

2011-12-25T21:08:00.003+08:00

It's Christmas Down Under, and just as you've probably come to expect, it's weird.

For one thing, it's summer in Australia for some reason. Oh, sure, I've heard all about the tilt of the earth's axis and the astoundingly boring scientific explanation for why Australia is six months out of synch with the rest of the world (New Zealand and South Africa excepted). But I have the distinct feeling that the real reason is Australians simply want it that way out of sheer obstinacy. What the locals refer to as "bloody-mindedness."

That's when, if you have absolutely nothing to lose by doing something that would be of tremendous benefit to others, but because you have nothing to gain from it, you don't do it. Bloody-mindedness. Politicians get accused of that a lot here. It's what Ebeneezer Scrooge had, before he found his Spirit of Christmas Presents.

If the rest of the world has Christmas in winter, Australians just HAVE to be different and hold it in the middle of summer. "That'll show the bastards," is probably what they are all thinking.

I haven't felt the spirit of the Christmas season once in the ten years I've been here. It's usually just too darn hot! Too hot to bake Pfeffernüsse, Lebkuchen, cookies, fudge, divinity, roast turkey, Stollen, or any of the traditional winter holiday foods that I associate with Christmas. Too hot to go out shopping for gifts, and too hot to sit by a glowing fire in a woolen sweater reading anything whatsoever by Charles Dickens.

While people in the northern hemisphere are enjoying a day out in the snow, getting windburn and the occasional touch of frostbite, Australians head for the beach for a sunburn and an occasional shark bite. While kids north of the equator are trying out their new snowboards, toboggans and skis, Aussie kids are trying out their new surfboards, boogie boards, and air conditioners.

My Christmas Dinner

Up north, you'll be having roast turkey, goose, ham, more turkey, mashed potatoes, hot chocolate, and still more turkey. In Australia, you get a barbeque. And not like an awesome Southern barbeque - I mean just frying some steaks on a grill with maybe some prawns on there to classy it up a bit.

Down here, your uncle Albert would still get drunk and make a nuisance of himself at the family get-together, but the difference is that in Australia he'll likely be wearing a speedo as well.

With all that that entails.

Up north, Santa delivers gifts in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer. In Australia, Santa does his rounds in a clapped-out Holden Ute. But don't hold your breath. It's a big country. And Santa doesn't always remember to check the coolant level before heading out.

Santa calls out some other reindeer names that can't be printed here.

I've touched on some of the uniquely Australian characteristics of Christmas previously. We have Christmas spiders (Austracantha minax), Christmas trees that you must not cut down (Nuytsia floribunda), Christmas island (a refugee detention center), and Christmas Crackers.

The first time I was offered a Christmas Cracker, I declined. "I can have crackers any old time," thought I. "Hey, it's Christmas - let's eat some crackers!" Could Australia really be that lame?

It turns out that Christmas Crackers aren't Saltines or even Ritz. They're something even more lame. Looking like someone's attempt to gift-wrap an empty toilet paper tube, they are supposed to explode when pulled open from the ends. Someone's idea of humor, I guess. But in reality, they make an almost detectable "tch" sound when detonated. Once opened, they reveal a plastic choking hazard and a hat made of tissue paper. And boy when you're wearing a hat made of tissue while trying to dislodge a miniature plastic desk lamp from a toddlers mouth, the fun just never stops.

My recommendation for your holiday travel is to visit Australia at some time of the year other than Christmas. Unless you really like spiders, overweight men in speedos who have had too much to drink, and tissue paper hats.

Merry Christmas, one and all!

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The Story of Newtonmas

2011-12-22T19:11:00.006+08:00

As you are probably aware, Sir Isaac Newton's birthday, December 25, is celebrated each year the world over. We sing songs about Santa's gravity-defying reindeer, eat heroic quantities of the finest foods available, and decorate our houses, our trees, and increasingly, ourselves with highly technologically advanced paraphernalia, all in celebration of our civilization's utterly miraculous scientific and economic accomplishments.

QUIZ: Which of these men was actually born on December 25th:
Sir Isaac of Lincolnshire, or Iosua of Galilee?

This is the True (but slightly anachronistic) Story of Newtonmas - the most Scientifically and Economically Wonderful Time of the Year. And by "true," I of course mean "completely made up."

Once upon a time in the long-forgotten past, about eleven years ago, Nikolaos of Myra (who is known in the Blogosphere by his username Santa Claus) was meeting with his Chief Scientist, Sir Isaac Newton, to discuss his plans for a brand-new global holiday.

Santa: "... and then I'll drop down the chimney and leave the presents under an indoor tree or shrub (haven't made a final decision on that yet). What do you think? I reckon this will be the best holiday of the year!"

Isaac: "Well, Nick, I can't really comment on your marketing projections, but there might be a few technical issues with the plan. Assuming we can provide the reindeer with sufficient thrust, there's no reason why they shouldn't be able to fly just fine. It's the landings that have me a bit concerned."

Santa: "We can work out those details later. My number one concern (besides keeping bloody PETA off my back) is the timing. I'm really hoping 24 hours is going to be enough. I'll start in Australia, since they've got the earliest time zones..."

Isaac: "Ah, yes. I've done a few calculations, and there might be an issue or two. To meet your timeframe, Santa, you'll have to average about 650 miles per second while making about 800 stops per second. Assuming you can even react that fast without getting the presents mixed up, the g-forces would turn your flesh into jelly. A big, bowl full of jelly, to be precise."

Santa: "Even with my special red carbon fiber suit?"

Isaac: "Especially with the suit. The air resistance will not just melt your sleigh, but vaporize the remains as well."

Santa: "Bugger. Well, what do you suggest we do, smart guy?

Isaac: "Um, there's something I've been working on for a while, and this might be the perfect opportunity to roll it out. I've succeeded in developing a consistent theory of Physics, which incorporates all known phenomena such as motion, forces, acceleration, light, mass, and energy. The relationships between these things are nicely described by a method of computation I've developed ... which that scoundrel Leibniz keeps trying to take credit for. Make sure you put him on your Naughty list, Nick."

Santa: "(Sigh!) Physics and Calculus is all really interesting, I'm sure, but how is it going to help me?"

Isaac: "Keep your beard on, grandpa, I'm getting to that. When people can work out accurate predictions of how inventions are going to function, then developing technology is going to be a lot cheaper and faster to do. And with a correct understanding of natural principles, it will be a lot less risky, since unfeasible inventions will be easy to spot, and more likely candidates easier to design. The effect of all this will be an explosion of technology giving Humanity incredible levels of wealth, power, freedom and comfort that the world has never before seen or even imagined. What I suggest we do, Santa, is publish my Physics and wait for it to get a foothold. When it does, people will have all they need and more."

Santa: "Wait ... but won't that mean they no longer need me to bring presents to the children? They'll already have all they require."

Isaac: "No, that's the beauty of it. See, parents can then afford to go out and purchase the presents in a thriving, vibrant economy, wrap them up and leave them under the Santa Bush themselves. The kids won't know the difference - they'll think you paid them a personalized visit, leaving you free to focus on the special needs cases."

Santa: "Holy Commercialization . . . Isaac, you're a genius! That is the best idea I've ever heard. Sheer brilliance. You know, I was going to hold this holiday on my birthday - December 7th - (a bit of personal vanity, I suppose), but because you saved Santa-mas, we're going to hold it on your birthday instead! When is that, anyway?"

Isaac: "December 25th."

Santa: "No good. It's too close to the pagan Solstice celebrations."

Isaac: "Not necessarily. If you were to merge the two, you'll get much greater market penetration. Plus, I know this Jewish guy who's a genius at Public Relations. I've become a huge fan of his work myself - he's already got about a bazillion likes on Facebook. If you get him to handle the publicity, this holiday will go viral in no time at all."

Santa: "Good thinking. I'll give him a jingle. Get it? Jingle? Ho ho ho. What's his name?"

Isaac: "Joshua of Galilee, but his friends just call him Jesus."

Santa: "When's his birthday?"

Isaac: "The 30th of Nissin. Why?"

Santa: "Never mind. That's, like, March or April isn't it? It doesn't matter I suppose. Yes, with your help, Isaac, and Joshua's marketing skills, this holiday is going to be an absolute smash! A real corker."

... And that's the story (more or less) of how we came to live in a wonderful world of untold wealth, possibility, freedom, abundance, long life and joy. Of course not everyone shares in this Utopian dream. There are people today still living in darkness, in lack, in despair and in shackles both real and imagined. But as more and more people embrace the spirit of Newtonmas, the can-do belief that our intellect, hard work, rationality and best intentions can make life better for everyone, the blessings of human progress will gradually but inexorably become universal. Each December 25 will find the world a better place than the previous one did.

Merry Newtonmas, Everyone!

Is The Mechanical Age Finished?

2011-12-14T17:46:00.000+08:00

Is it the end of the Mechanical Age?

The what? Well, you'd better watch the video. Then decide.

(26 minutes)

One Little Word That Can Change Your Life

2011-12-11T17:31:00.003+08:00

I've written previously about untestable beliefs that you can test personally but which are not subject to scientific validation or falsification. Unlike science, which is a collaborative, cumulative enterprise of progress, personal growth depends on you alone and is a journey everyone makes from start to finish. No shortcuts. Or are there?

You alone can make the discoveries of personal enlightenment. No teacher, guru, minister, psychologist, "self help" coach, parent or mentor can do it for you. A teacher can at best give hints and encouragement. I can only promise you based on my experience that there are discoveries waiting to be made which are immensely worthwhile. Possibly the only thing really worth doing with life's short moment.

If you have ever wanted to change your life or if you ever desired to be happy, then perhaps you have tried taking a vacation, re-decorating the house, buying some completely different (yet somehow identical) shoes and clothes, getting up at an entirely different time, quitting one job and getting another, moving to a foreign country, reading completely different books, having a new relationship or a new child or a new divorce, or buying a totally different car to the one you have. One with, say, four wheels instead of . . . oh, never mind.

You might be unusually lucky and have everything suddenly go your way. All morons and idiots vanish from your life, bullies all get their come-uppance, your preferred political party wins the election, your chosen athletics corporation makes the playoffs, and all the TV shows you most despise get cancelled.

If you are fortunate enough to experience all that, then it might also be your good fortune to learn an extremely valuable truth: You're still unhappy!

Then if you have the time, health and resources, you could keep trying to change your internal emotional state by continuing to re-arrange the world around you. If you do this and if you live long enough, you might even discover something truly extraordinary: You had what you were looking for inside you all along.

A person who can make that journey is lucky indeed. How much luckier is the person who gets to the finish line in an instant without all that effort? Such a person could live his whole life happy right from the get-go. Wouldn't that be interesting.

So what is this one little word that can change your life? It's just an untestable belief I have that says the way I ask a question determines the quality of the answers I receive.

Lots of people ask themselves, "Why is this happening to me?" And the human brain is an answer-generating machine. It is not a logical truth machine, however. Answers only. If you ask your brain a question, it WILL produce an answer even if it has to make shit up.

If you ask why awful things always happen to you, your brain will produce plentiful evidence that this assumption is not only correct, but has countless logical, inescapable reasons. So be extremely careful what you ask your brain.

But if we change one little word in that question, it becomes a vehicle of power rather than self-pity. It becomes the trigger for your brain to plan for your success rather than undermine all your efforts.

Change the "2" to a "4" and get:

Why is this happening FOR me?

Test it in your life and share the results.

I recommend:

Just An Ordinary, Boring Weekend in Oz

2011-12-11T17:28:00.001+08:00

Some people think Perth is a boring place. At first, I didn't understand what they were talking about. But after getting to know Perth and learning some of the many incredibly, amazingly boring things about it, I'm beginning to understand.

An uninvited swan.

Take this weekend, for instance. Saturday afternoon Yvonne and I were at Point Walter (what a BORING name!) sitting on the grass enjoying a meal of beef Teriyaki and Thai green curry (ho-hum - such ordinary, everyday boring food) when to our utter boredom an absolutely boring Black Swan (Cygnus atratus) casually strolled right through the middle of the picnic area. Two hundred years ago that would have caused tremendous excitement, since at the time the mythical Black Swan was believed to be, well, mythical. But today if you live in boring old Perth tripping over Black Swans everywhere you go, they just contribute to the overall boredom.

Cygnus atratus, NOT mythical. Quite boring, actually.
Not even venomous or anything.

Later that evening, we were down at Fremantle Harbour watching the boring container ships being unloaded, which they do here 24 hours a day 7 days a week. Yawn! Over 26 million tons of remarkably dull goods pass through this port every year. Then the dullest thing imaginable happened: a transport ship from Kobe opened its hull and a bunch of ordinary Toyota cars started driving right out onto the dock. About twenty wharfies then spent hour after boring hour parking hundreds of cars in a massively boring lot and then stuffing themselves into an ordinary minivan, driving back onto the transport ship and starting all over again. This went on for hours.

On the bridge of HMAS Choules, facing aft, port side.

We know, because we watched the whole thing happening from the bridge of the soon-to-be-commissioned Navy transport HMAS Choules, a Bay-class landing ship dock purchased (in typical Australian fashion) second-hand on Ebay. Ha ha! No - they actually bought it from the Brits. Second hand.

Well, at least they didn't pick it up on the side of the road somewhere or make off with it in the middle of the night while its owners were sleeping, which is even more typically the Australian way of procuring things.

This ship is so immensely boring that the sheer size of it stunned me into submissive silence. It weighs 16,000 tons and is 580 feet long. It has an enormously boring cavity right down the middle of it with enough space for 150 trucks. That's a lot of trucks.

HMAS Choules in Falmouth drydock,
earlier this year.

To get an idea of what this experience was like, you should go out and find a parking lot big enough for 150 trucks and imagine putting the entire parking lot INSIDE the middle of a ship. How does that make you feel? Pretty darn bored, right?

Our fully authorized incursion onto the ship was courtesy of a friend who is an electronics technician in the Australian Navy. He had just arrived on this ship all the way from Falmouth, England (Britain's deepest and most boring natural port) where the ship had been undergoing re-fit since August. By the time they finally got to Perth, the entire crew was absurdly, ridiculously bored. Perth has that effect on people.

The HMAS Choules was re-named for Australia's oldest living WWI and WWII veteran Claude Choules, who ironically died earlier this year in Perth (undoubtedly from boredom) at age 110. He was Australia's oldest living man at the time of his death. And he holds the World's Record for being the oldest first-time published author when he released his memoirs at age 108. This is probably how he got a ship named after him. Well, that and his service in two world wars and 41 years as an enlisted man and NCO in the Australian Navy, of course.

December 10, 2011 Total Lunar Eclipse at about
40 minutes before full occlusion. Photo by
Cpl. Marek Bubna-Litic, R.A.N.,
taken from onboard the HMAS Choules.

From our towering vantage point some 100 feet above Fremantle harbor, we could see every boring thing that was going on. In particular, the TOTAL LUNAR ECLIPSE that was happening that very night right before our eyes. This is a scientific event that is so boring it happens only every couple of years (but twice this year, being a particularly boring year).

The overall effect it had on me was to make me so sleepy after watching it until well past 11 PM that I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. But I finally understand why people say Perth is so boring.

It is because they are devoid of any imagination and lack even a passing curiosity about the fascinating place we live.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-09T13:10:00.006+08:00

Well, it's finally December, and you know what that means, right?

Tinsel? Lights? Santa? Presents?

Wrong! At the Shed, December always means . . .

SPIDERS!

Lots and lots of spiders. Colorful, festive spiders adorning everything.

The entire block (where the Shed is) is presently criss-crossed between every tree, shrub, bush and plant with spiderwebs. Peter Jackson could film most of The Hobbit right here and save a fortune on fake webs and giant spider animatronics. Plus my recently-acquired ear hair qualifies me to be an extra in the film, maybe even a supporting extra.

I was up there a few days ago checking on the rainwater tank (finally full, which I determined with just a glance at a most ingenious tank gauge) and making sure the drip irrigation system was in good order for the start of summer. This simple task was rendered almost impossible because I literally could not move an inch or turn around on the spot without going straight through some spider's ludicrously ambitious web, some of them eight feet across. I had to carry several sticks with me at all times (second most useful thing ever) and constantly wave them around, high and low. If I passed through one way, there'd be a new web in the spot by the time I returned. At one point there were three bewildered spiders clinging to my stick at the same time probably asking themselves in their creepy spider language, "Why, God? Why is this happening to me?"

The main culprit in all this Holiday Madness is called the Christmas Spider. Now tell me this: what the hell kind of country has something called a Christmas Spider? But there we are. Deal with it.

Christmas Spider photographed at The Shed

Austracantha minax is a type of Orb Weaver found only in Australia, and is also known as the Christmas Spider, The Australian Jewel Spider, the Spiny Spider, and for some reason, "Bowser Henderson." Are you finally convinced that Australia is the strangest place on Earth? As though Mel Gibson and Steve Irwin wasn't proof enough. Then tell me, what other country in the world would name an entire species of spider "Bowser Henderson?"* (SEE BELOW - NOT TRUE)

They show up in late November, and by Christmas there is a spider sitting in a web filling every possible web-making space in certain parts of the outback. A month later, they are nowhere to be found. They celebrate Christmas by feasting on the explosion of moths, mosquitoes and other flying nuisances that erupts this time of the year, and then vanish until next holiday season.

We're just crazy about Christmas here. Australia also has something called Christmas Island, but you wouldn't want to go there. It has no snow, no elves, and nothing even remotely resembling Holiday Cheer. It is most famous as the location of a concentration camp for refugees who are permanently detained by the Australian Government while politicians decide how best to use them to their electoral advantage. Unfortunately, most politicians can only see their existence as a political disadvantage and are simply hoping the problem will go away if they ignore it long enough.

Christmas in Western Australia also means Christmas Trees, of course. But it wouldn't be Australia if that, too, were not also weird and a little bit sinister. A Christmas Tree is a parasite (technically, a hemiparasitic plant) somewhat related to Mistletoe (so there's that, anyway), which bursts out in the most violent day-glow orange display each December.

This large, free-standing plant known scientifically as Nuytsia floribunda and found only in Western Australia uses its roots to tap into and hijack the roots of almost any other tree or plant to obtain the nutrients it needs. When the colorful Christmas Trees are in full bloom, that is a signal for everyone to get ready, hang up their stockings and watch out for . . . Santa? No! Spiders. Hang up your stockings and anything else that you don't want spiders getting into.

Nyoongar aboriginals consider it to be extremely poor manners to cut down one of these trees. Oh, it might bring bad luck, who knows. Anything's possible, I suppose. But these trees are an excellent source of shields fashioned from bark, and produce an edible resin gum. And they make a pretty cool natural calendar, too.

Have a Holly Jolly Creepy Crawly Christmas! And don't forget to BUY STUFF. The economy needs you.

.
* This "Bowser Henderson" factoid sounds a lot like bullshit, doesn't it? Interestingly, wikipedia is the only reference to this usage (other than sites that just copy whatever wikipedia says), and it is looking more and more like bullshit as I continue my attempts to verify it. I suspect it is someone's private joke on the world, because the name doesn't appear to have any cultural or popular meaning. I am attempting to raise the question with Australia's leading spider and lingual experts. I will keep you informed.

UPDATE 17 DEC 2011: I have been in communication with a spider expert at the South Australian Museum who agrees that this "Bowser Henderson" thing is probably bullshit. He has never heard of it. I have also been in contact with an expert in Australian Linguistics who knows more about Australian slang, regional terminology and dialects than probably anyone alive, and he says he's never heard of it. He surmises it may be a term used only within the contributor's own limited circle, own family, or possibly even within his own mind. Therefore we will declare that this factoid is BUSTED and "Bowser Henderson" IS NOT a "commonly used" alternative name for the Christmas Spider at all. -j.j.

How Clever Are You?

2011-12-08T13:16:00.003+08:00

There are a lot of really clever inventions out there, mainly due to (and sometimes in spite of) the efforts of a lot of really clever people. Are you one of them?

Are you clever enough to figure out a way to indicate the level of water in a rainwater tank using nothing other than String and Rocks, two of the four fundamental Blokian Elements?

I'll even give you a hint: It looks exactly like this:

As the water level inside the tank increases or decreases, the external red pointer (seen on the white pole near the center of the photo) rises or falls to indicate the actual water level to within a couple of millimeters. How does it work?

I have seen fluid level sensors that use mechanical floats, electromagnetic transducers, ultrasonic sensors, capacitive sensors, induction sensors, thermal sensors, Vessel Resonance Depth Gauges and differential pressure depth gauges. But this is the first one I've encountered that uses only string and rocks. Talk about Low Tech, you don't get much lower than that. Unless it were using just Rocks and nothing more.

The depth of a hole, canyon or gorge can be determined using only a rock. Drop the rock over the edge and count "One-hippopotamus, Two-hippopotamus, ..." until the rock hits something. Then square the number of hippopotami. That is the depth of the canyon in rods. To get feet, multiply by 16. To get meters, multiply by 4.905 instead. What could be simpler than that?

If you can describe to me how this tank level indicator operates using only String and Rocks, I will add your name to the Blokian Honor Roll in a future post that reveals the answer. A diagram is useful. Click on the "About Me" link in the left sidebar to send me your entry.

And don't forget to do your Christmas Shopping!

.

More Secret Men's Business

2011-12-06T13:15:00.001+08:00

Walt Whitman wrote:

A batter'd, wreck'd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd and nigh to death,
I take my way along the island's edge,
Venting a heavy heart.

I am too full of woe!
Haply I may not live another day;
I cannot rest O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep,
Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee,
Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee,
Report myself once more to Thee.
...

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless,
My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd,
Let the old timbers part, I will not part,
I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me,
Thee, Thee at least I know.

Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
What do I know of life? what of myself?
I know not even my own work past or present,
Dim ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me,
Of newer better worlds, their mighty parturition,
Mocking, perplexing me.

And these things I see suddenly, what mean they?
As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal'd my eyes,
Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky,
And on the distant waves sail countless ships,
And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.

Our old friend Walter raises several very good points with this. One concerns the Mathematician, aka the Magician. The doer of magic, so-called, because so few understand it. So few also comprehend the effort it takes, the years of preparation and study, enduring confusion, suffering privation with a single purpose in mind: to Know. Nor do they see the power that must be summoned to create such original works.

At some point the Magician must bid goodbye to his powers and see his works blossom or not, float or sink as they will, without him to steer them.

Another is the Grieving Man, so full of woe and venting a heavy heart. Where does he come from? Where does he go when at last he disappears? To quote the great Leroy Carr, "The blues, they come, the blues they come, nobody knows where the blues come from; the blues they go, the blues they go, and everybody's happy when the old blues go."* It must serve some divine purpose, as everything in existence (which existence is the divine itself) must do. The clever part is in finding it out.

One final word, and if this isn't making sense, then check the title again. Things can be hidden in plain sight, like the Parables. What I'm really interested in knowing is this:

Why is there new hair growing on my ears that was never there before? What possible benefit could that bestow upon me?

Am I turning into some sort of Hobbit?

* Leroy Carr (1905-1935) was a blues pianist who lived only to age 30 but within that short time influenced generations of artists including Nat King Cole, Ray Charles, Count Basie, and T-Bone Walker. The lyrics come from the song "Papa's on the housetop."

And would you LOOK at the size of those hands?

Stupid Science, Stupid Religion

2011-11-29T10:11:00.005+08:00

Lest anyone imagine that all religious beliefs are equal or that everything called Science is awesome, I'd like to get a few things off my chest and open things up a little.

It's sort of like comparing smart girls to particularly dumb boys, or smart boys to really dumb girls, and then trying to conclude that either boys or girls are generally the dumbest. There is such a thing as stupid religion, and also stupid science. Neither has a monopoly on being completely lame once in a while.

It is this flawed method of biased comparison that is largely responsible for the falsely perceived incompatibility that people often pretend exists between Science and Religion.

The real incompatibility is between smart and stupid, and my life has been entirely committed to becoming gradually less stupid in both areas and striving to be slightly smarter, bit by little, as a scientist/engineer as well as a spiritual being whenever an opportunity to do so comes along.

Stupid Religion happens when people use Religion when they should be using something else instead. Like Science, The Emergency Room, or Birth Control. Or something called a Brain. Religion is particularly stupid when it makes testable statements. These are claims that can actually be checked or verified through a bit of investigation, experimentation, or mathematical analysis. This is very dangerous for Religion, because once testable claims are made and they happen to prove false, that Religion's credibility takes a major hit.

It gets worse, though. Because many people can't tell the difference between these testable "beliefs" and real beliefs, they may feel social pressure to continue believing in statements that have already been disproved. Basically, they are believing in lies and will sooner or later suffer because of it.

This credibility hit and the attending suffering is something to which the Catholic Church can testify. It is a lesson that all other religions should carefully consider. Catholics once persecuted Galileo for examining some of their stupid testable beliefs and proving them wrong. Eventually, though, they had to eat humble pie and admit they were wrong and he was right. This is actually much to their credit, because some Religions would rather cease to exist than to ever admit being wrong. It pleases me immensely to observe the Christian teaching of Humility over Pride being put into practice in this way. Even though it took a few hundred years.

But too often I find religious people adamantly and pridefully clinging to some false testable statement that has already been disproved. They are certain that there is no possible way they could ever have been mistaken in the way they interpret ancient texts written in some long-dead language by people they know nothing about. If there's anything more arrogant or prideful than that, I surely don't want to know about it. The earth is only 6,000 years old? That has not only been proven completely false, but the bible doesn't even say this. Readers of the bible made up this statement out of pure ignorance.

Beliefs that can be tested are Stupid. Nobody ever needs to believe them, because they can be tested and either proved or disproved. "Do you believe in evolution?" No! It's not a matter of belief, it's a proven fact. You don't need to believe in it any more than you need to believe that your cell phone really can make phone calls or that airplanes really can fly. And really believing as hard as you can that 2 and 2 make 7 will never make it so, and will eventually lead to your spiritual downfall.

Believing in something that is false has only one spiritual or practical benefit. If this is happening to you, it is probably what should be happening. The reason you're here is not to have a perfect existence and to be right all the time. This world is a classroom, and we are here to learn and grow. Everything is an opportunity to fulfill this Divine purpose, including getting yourself into and then out of some stupid, testable beliefs.

Powerful, spiritual beliefs are those that cannot be tested in any way except within your own character. If they improve you, end your suffering and make you stronger, keep them. They are proved for you. But everyone else on the planet needs to do their own work.

Tell us, John, what religion are you anyway?

Why? So you can label me? So you can judge me according to your perception of that religion, as totally clear and perfect as that perception surely is? Forget it. I, like every person on the planet, am far more complex than even a whole dictionary of labels could contain. I might be Catholic, Bhuddist, Hindu, Methodist, Muslim, Jewish, Evangelical, Coptic, Greek Orthodox, Baptist, Adventist, Jehovah's Witness, Mormon, Quaker, Mennonite, Anabaptist, Baha'i, Eckankar, Jainist, Zoroastrian or Pastafarian, and it wouldn't make any difference to the validity of ideas that have an independent existence.

My Religion isn't the church I go to in order to participate in community life. My Religion is my personal spirituality, untestable beliefs, and the growth that hopefully occurs once in a while as a result.

_____

Stupid Science happens when scientists do the opposite, and make statements that are not testable. They make proclamations that their data do not support. Sometimes this happens when they perceive only what their personal bias and preconceptions allow them to see, or they filter every new experience according to their past experience. In other words, when they are acting perfectly human.

But scientists are supposed to have more discipline than that, especially before opening their mouths in public.

The worst example of Stupid Science is when scientists publicly announce that There Is No God. Now, how the hell were they able to work that out? What data do they have to show this conclusively? What peer-review process did they follow? None: they are just being Stupid. They are messing with untestable hypotheses which are not within the domain of Science at all. They are overstepping their bounds.

"I'm WATCHING you!"

Other examples of Stupid Science are found everywhere on the internet: free energy scams; dubious anti-aging cosmetics, drugs and devices; "alternative" medicine; Climate Change Denial; Ass-trology, Numb-erology, bible codes, or anything else that uses scientific-sounding bullshit but with no methodology for eliminating bias from the evidence, or which claim proof of untestable or poorly-formed hypotheses.

Science is really very simple. You draw conclusions based on real evidence, and only based on the evidence.

Anything and everything that is objectively testable is the property of Science. Anything that is subjective to the mind belongs to Religion. They have nothing whatsoever to do with each other, nor does either one pose any kind of threat to the other. There is no conflict between them.

Unless, of course, they are being Stupid.

.

Ramblin' on my Mind

2011-11-28T18:14:00.001+08:00

Tim and I were invited to play at a private party last Saturday. We only had once chance to practice beforehand. The results are as follows:

We're looking for a drummer and bassist to play with us once in a while. But so far we haven't found any who, like us, are unable to keep a tempo. It just wouldn't work.

The real thing:

Too Much Stuff

2011-11-28T12:38:00.005+08:00

It's possible to have too much stuff, but you usually only become aware of the fact when it's too late and you have to move it all to a different house.

After three years in a house that was too small for our stuff (some of it had to be left outside in the rain), it was finally time to move to a bigger house. Except for the stuff that had been ruined by being out in the rain, of course. Luckily, there was a Bring Out Your Dead day a few weeks before the big move.

To save about a thousand dollars, we decided to move ourselves. We rented a truck from Thrifty because the name simply appealed to us somehow for reasons we can't explain. It was a 3-tonne truck which is the largest you can operate in Western Australia with only a normal driver's license. It took four trips over a 48 hour period. We returned the truck at 1 o'clock in the morning.

(Like the music? Get it here.)

By the end of it, my body felt like I had been hit by a truck. A big, blue truck with the word, "Thrifty" painted on the side. Four times.

Interestingly, we put 170 miles on the truck but used only 8 gallons of diesel. That makes it slightly better than 20 miles to the gallon.

This gave me an idea. I could load my tired old 1800-cc Toyota light truck into the back of this moving van and cart it around everywhere I went. I'd get better fuel economy that way. Plus it would save on wear and repairs. With nearly 450,000 kms on the clock (that's 280,000 miles for my metric-impaired readers), repairs are becoming more frequent. It would also save on speeding tickets.

How can you avoid getting saddled with too much stuff? I suggest moving house every few weeks.

Just to be on the safe side.

.

Theory of Awesomeness

2011-11-25T09:10:00.002+08:00

One of the characteristics of a great, enduring Scientific Theory is its ability to organize random observations and facts into something more orderly. Something that makes sense. And at no time are we in more desperate need of organization than while moving house!

I have way, way too much stuff. Most of it is books. Then there's my calculators, watches, cameras, and various computer things. But then there are things that I have no idea why I have them, what they're good for, or where to put them. This is where the Theory of Awesomeness comes into its own.

Before, during and after the big move, I've had to make a seemingly endless series of decisions about what to keep, what to give to the Salvos*, and what to send to the Tip*. My Theory of Awesomeness makes these decisions vastly easier and in many cases so obvious that I don't know what I'd do without it. It's Awesome.

That's actually one way to define Awesomeness: the degree to which something is Awesome. But to avoid a tautology (look it up), Scientists are trained to define concepts like this quantitatively. Therefore,

where a0 is the baseline Awesomeness, U(t) is the item's usefulness or un-usefulness as a function of time, E(t) is the Elegance (or lack thereof) which is defined as the base-pi logarithm of the coolness, and d is the density. Obviously things that are Awesome because of rather than in spite of how much space they take up or how much they cost will require a different equation.

The real power of this equation is that it will be at least a week before someone emails me and says, "Hey, wait a minute . . . ."

While packing for the big move, each item's Awesomeness was calculated. If it was less than the baseline Awesomeness, I threw it away. If it was merely baseline Awesomeness, I gave it away. If an item was clearly and demonstrably Awesome, I kept it. For example, there were some books containing information that was irrelevant even when new, but which was now also out of date. These were tossed straight in the bin. Items of clothing for which the Awesomeness had worn out leaving large holes in them were also thrown out unless they could be used as awesome paint rags.

None of my calculators got thrown away or given away, owing to the fact that even the broken ones take up so little space and were in past times (t approaching negative infinity) very useful. Most of the books I own stayed because they have potential usefulness as t approaches infinity. All of my watches and clocks were saved from the axe due to their undiminishing elegance and/or coolness.

Highly subjective, you say? I don't think so. I defy anyone to prove that this incredibly practical Casio with a 10-year battery is not both Useful and Cool. It is in fact the only digital watch I can be bothered to wear.

Or try to prove that this limited-edition watch isn't the coolest thing in the entire Solar System. The face revolves once per sidereal day and correctly displays the location in the southern hemisphere of 1000 celestial objects at any given time. As the months pass and the earth revolves around the sun, the dial keeps track of the changes in the night sky and shows me which constellations and stars are visible at the moment. That is, as long as I have the 10x magnifier that came with it. Sometimes I wear it even if I'm not particularly fussed about what stars are presently visible. It's the sort of watch that a great wizard like Dumbledore would have worn on a daily basis. Heck, it's the sort of watch Dumbledore would have invented.

Or, prove that this Seiko Chronograph isn't completely and absolutely cool due to the rotary logarithmic slide rule built into the bezel. It can do unit conversions and multiplication or division (provided you know how a slide rule works AND have a magnifier handy - see previous). It is so cool that I had no choice but to give it to myself for my birthday.

Well, I couldn't have expected anyone else to realize that I needed a watch with a rotary logarithmic slide rule. Oh, sure, it's completely obvious in hindsight. But my understanding of the Theory of Awesomeness makes buying my own birthday presents the most practical and scientifically sound course of action.

So, the next time you have to make a decision about what to keep, what to throw away, what to donate, or what to buy that special engineer or scientist in your life for Newtonmas (only 30 shopping days left!), feel free to use my Theory of Awesomeness. If an item contains enough Awesomeness, it is worth having. It might even be worth the trouble of moving it to another house.

* Salvos is Australian slang for The Salvation Army, which in addition to being among Australia's many excellent religious organizations, operates an immensely useful chain of thrift stores.
* The Tip is the Australian word for a landfill.

Taboo #1: Politics.

2011-11-16T15:01:00.003+08:00

My personal views on Politics and Religion are sure to alienate every other living person on the planet. This is exactly how it's supposed to be, since every person on the planet is entitled to have their own personal views on things. If you are apt to experience outrage when someone's views differ from yours, I suggest that you read no further. Ever. Anything. Unless you like being outraged (which admittedly many people do, given the popularity of outrage-promoting TV shows such as The News.) In that case, my best advice is to do whatever you want, and don't blame me.

I find Australian politics to be fascinating.

Like most statements about politics, this one is also an outright lie. The truth is that I find few things to be more irritating than politics. To my mind, interesting questions are scientific, philosophical or engineering in nature and not the endless random noise about who supports what or whom. It's Celebrity Gossip and nothing more.

In Australia, the conservative pro-wealth party is called The Liberal Party of Australia for some reason. This would be like the US Republican Party calling itself The Gay Communists of Atheism Party. The word "liberal" is such an epithet and insult in the United States that the casual use of it in Australia still sounds weird to me.

I also consider it to be blatant false advertising. "Vote for lower taxes on the rich, fewer immigrants, more corporations, less health care, less welfare, less education, and more Religion in public life. Vote Liberal!" Say what? That stuff isn't liberal, it's head-in-the-sand 17th-century Conservatism.

Meanwhile the liberal side of politics in Australia is called the Australian Labour Party for the very compelling reason that they needed to have a different acronym (ALP) from the other guys (LPA). This is also a bold move that the US Democrats are too cowardly to take: openly declaring their support of labor unionism.

Back in the 1800's when the lines were being drawn globally, progressive socialist intellectual marxist bolscheviks ("liberals") decided they needed a voting base slightly more diverse than that of over-educated and under-experienced idealistic university students, and so they recruited blue-collar workers to their side by promising better wages and conditions. This was accomplished first through unionism, then violent communist revolutions, later through government-mandated conditions of employment, and later still, total government oversight of every aspect of life. Early attempts at totalitarian control utilized a kind of secret police called The Secret Police, but now most governments do this simply using the tax code. I'm not talking just about Russia here, but every nation on the planet including the USA.

But what they didn't count on was the underlying conservatism of blue-collar workers,who tend to believe in family life, religion, national patriotism, and sports. And so to maintain this tenuous grip on blue-collar support, the liberal Labour Party, just like the conservative Liberal Party, has to pretend to like all those very conservative yet very populist things as well, making the conservative Liberal Party and the liberal Labour Party visibly indistinguishable from each other. But behind closed doors, Labour Party leadership are still essentially intellectual communist atheists. Australia's Prime Minister for example is a woman who openly lives with a man to whom she is not married, and has done so for years. In America, many people think it's still legal to stone monogamous adulterers (aka "liberals") to death. Can you imagine a man or a woman in a de-facto relationship running for office in the US?

This brings me to the parliamentary practice of making one of their numbers the de-facto (har!) head of state. It's like putting one of the chickens in charge of the henhouse, which seems to me like an enormous conflict of interest. Who is representing her electorate while Julia Gillard off being the Prime Minister?

To be effective, any legislative body needs to have a common enemy, specifically a chief executive or President as head of State. Otherwise, they do what the Australian Parliament does all day, which is bicker and snipe at each other rather than figure out how to settle the President's hash once and for all.

Every statement heard in parliament is made solely to denigrate the other party simply for being the other party. The LPA trashes the ALP for supporting policies that the LPA itself supported not more than a couple of years ago. There is nothing substantive or intelligent ever said within those walls. I find it to be pure childishness and a complete waste of the taxpayers' money.

But would it be any different if Australia had a President instead of a foreign Queen as head of State? Based what I hear from the USA, the answer would have to be "no."

The late and famous Douglas Adams wrote in one of the Hitchhikers' Guide books that no one who seeks power can ever be trusted to have it. In his universe, the real leader is a hermit who doesn't give a toss about power, and makes decisions on a purely rational basis (he asks his cat) rather than based on what is more likely to get his party re-elected.

J.K. Rowling, whom you may have heard of if you've been anywhere in this Solar System during the last 15 years, also writes that those who crave power should under no circumstances be allowed to actually have it. Everything I am unfortunate enough to read about politics confirms these views for me.

The solution? First, we should immediately ban all political parties forthwith. They have never done anyone any good whatsoever and are a hinderment to real democracy. Secondly, adopt real democracy, which is making decisions by the majority voice of the people. Democracy did not originally mean creating popular celebrities who would then make short-sighted decisions based on how to best remain in power.

We have the technology now. Why not have politics without politicians?

But doesn't someone have to be in charge? No problem. You've heard of Jury Duty, right? Pick citizens at random to fill the seats. You have my personal Guarantee that they will be no worse than the politicians who lie, cheat, steal and deal to get where they are. Or your money back.

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Taboo #2: Religion.

2011-11-16T14:45:00.008+08:00

In 1958 Bertrand Russell posited that there was a perfectly good Teapot orbiting the sun in our solar system, and defied anyone to prove him wrong. He was trying to explain what an unfalsifiable hypothesis was, and to show that something isn't necessarily so just because you can't disprove it. Why would he do such a thing?

Because some knucklehead tried to force religion on him by asserting that since you can't prove that God doesn't exist, then you have to accept that He does.

What this alerts us to is the idea that if something can't be found, it isn't necessarily nonexistent. We've all heard of the not-very-bright prospector who after years of searching without success concluded that there was no such thing as Gold. Assertions of the existence of something (such as an orbiting Teapot, a Flying Spaghetti Monster, or The Invisible Pink Unicorn) can't be disproved just because we are unable to find them. We can't very well look everywhere all at once.

Even worse are assertions of the existence of something which by its very nature is unable to be seen, felt, or otherwise detected in any way. Although an obvious logical error, it's still quite funny (to my sense of humor at any rate) to say that lack of evidence is itself not only evidence but final proof of the thing existing. In that way, we can assert that any absurd thing exists as long as we also say that by its nature it cannot be observed to exist.

This line of thinking is countered by the purveyors of quality religion who say, "Yes, but these unfalsifiable teapots are just objects, small ideas that have no real power to change the world. Religion consists of big ideas that create meaning in people's lives."

Tosh, says Russell, people are able to find meaning in anything, given enough time, motivation and creativity. Athiests are eager to claim (though without proof) that this is exactly what happened at the beginning of each major world religion.

Recently this precise thing has occurred with the emergence of our newest worldwide religion, Pastafarianism (google it). Because someone asserted the existence of a Flying Spaghetti Monster that can be no more proved or disproved than the dogma of any traditional religion, non-deists worldwide have adopted it as a kind of anti-faith or spoof religion. Essentially, it's the same argument as Bertrand Russel's Orbiting Teapot. So why isn't there a worldwide religion dedicated to worshiping the almighty Orbiting Teapot? It's obvious, isn't it? In 1958 the Internet hadn't been invented yet.

Please don't get me wrong - I'm not anti-religion nor am I an atheist. I regularly attend one of Australia's many excellent religious organizations. However, I'm not a Zealot and I reject Fundamentalism in all forms. I'm perfectly content for atheists to think what they think, and for any particular religious group to do likewise. I wonder only that people who crusade for atheism or any sort of -theism don't have anything better to do with their time.

Fractal known as The Mandelbrot Set

One thing I'm not happy to sit back and silently give approbation to is someone going around saying they have proof that their own Flying Teapot or Spaghetti Monster is the one real one. I speak of the Intelligent Design fruitcakes whose lives are squandered away in vain resistance to the natural proven fact of Evolution. They claim that by studying something they call "complexity" they can find evidence that there was an intelligent agent at work in creating Life. In other words, they say they have scientific proof that their God exists.

The problem is that their definition of complexity is no better than that of pornography: "you know it when you see it." That way they can assert that anything they want to be complex IS complex, and anything they don't want to be complex isn't. Is it any wonder they claim their hypothesis to be proved? It doesn't surprise anyone, frankly.

Mandelbrot set, magnified 2000 times.

However they define it, the main assumption is that "complex" things need to be designed "intelligently" and things that aren't complex have probably formed naturally or were perhaps designed by morons. I say that this is completely wrong and backwards. As an engineer, I know that things that are intelligently well-designed will always be simple. Rectangular. Regular. Containing no more features than are absolutely necessary. Random features, such as that of gravel (a man-made manufactured product!) don't count. Infinitely repeating features such as that on a fractal pattern look complex but aren't really. One simple mathematical equation describes all the infinite and intricate features of the Mandelbrot Set, for example. A bowl of spaghetti seems complex when you examine it closely, but it contains no information and only one part. Unless you add meatballs.

But complexity has a real definition and a way of measuring it. It comes down to how much information an object contains, not necessarily how much is needed to duplicate it. Spaghetti and fractals are not complex. A Terabyte of random numbers is not complex.

The most complex thing we normally deal with is a computer. Wasn't it designed? Heavens, no. It evolved through many increments to the point where no single person could possibly in a lifetime create all the hardware, firmware and software necessary for you to be reading this right now. Compared to the human body however, a computer is relatively simplistic. It also contains little or no random "garbage" owing to the intervention of designers. The human DNA sequence on the other hand does contain "junk."

No, the idea of "irreducible complexity" does not prove the existence of an undetectable invisible sky person. It is a false concept that misunderstands and misrepresents its own basic terms: intelligence, complexity, design, and creation. Complex systems cannot be designed. They can really only evolve.

And this should come as very welcome news for people who are into religion. Religion is supposed to be something not scientifically tested or subject to forcible persuasion by proof. It is supposed to be something of personal choice rather than compulsion by government or logic. Why are some religionists determined to look for proof? Do they in fact have no faith? If you know any of them, could you get them to please stop it?

If you want religion to have a place in your life, you don't need the permission of Logic, Science, or any human being on the planet to do so. Anyone who tries to ridicule you for doing so should be told to go and get a life. At the same time don't be under any misapprehension that your Flying Spaghetti Monster is any more or less scientifically proven than someone else's.

In the words of America's most respected judge possessing the very Wisdom of Solomon,

"I order Science to stay 500 yards away from Religion at all times."

That's suits me. While I quite enjoy chocolate in my peanut butter and peanut butter in my chocolate, the same does not apply to science and religion: I enjoy both of them so much more when they are each minding their own business.

A Very Auspicious Day - November 8

2011-11-08T07:50:00.002+08:00

You might not be aware that November 8 is one of the most interesting dates on the entire calendar.

For example, on this day in 1889, Montana became the 41st State of the Union. Where would we be today if that hadn't happened? Not in Montana, that's for certain.

X-Rays: Creepy!

Röntgen: Creepy.

Also on this day, in 1895, Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen discovered X-Rays while messing around with electricity, thus creating a whole new way for scientists to be creepy. And proving once and for all that messing around with electricity is, on the whole, an excellent thing to do.

Speaking of creepy, November 8 is also famous for being the day in 1923 on which a confused young Adolf Hitler attempted to seize control of Germany by occupying a beer hall in Munich at gunpoint. And it just might have worked, if it hadn't been a completely idiotic idea!!!! Sure, Germans like beer, but there is so much more to Germany than that. Young Adolf wouldn't have necessarily understood such nuances of German culture, he himself being Austrian. And part Jewish. And his real name wasn't Hitler, but Schickelgrüber. Yes, he was a very confused young man, about a great many things.

But young Adolf learned his lesson, and after being released from prison he gave up trying to put his nefarious plans and half-baked sociological theories into effect by force. Instead, he did what everyone else does who lusts for power, and got himself elected democratically.

Which is why you must never vote for anyone who says, "Vote for ME." Because that person will absolutely, definitely be the next Hitler.

LOSER of the 1960 US Presidential Election

Speaking of villains and democracy, November 8 also marks the day in 1960 when Richard Milhous Nixon, the world's second most famous Quaker after the guy on the Oatmeal box, was defeated in his bid to become the 35th POTUS. The voice of the People was clear and decisive in their rejection of Nixon as their 35th president. Nixon accepted this decision with good grace and resigned himself to becoming 37th president instead.

Remember that word, Dick. "Resign." It might come in handy again.

Speaking of resigning, today is the day in 2006 that the Worst Secretary of State Ever, Donald Rumsfeld, resigned.

While November 8 has seen its share of blood, such as the historic first-ever jet-on-jet aircraft dogfight (1950, USA 2, North Korea 0), or in 1520 when Denmark invaded Sweden for some reason, it has also been a day of peace. 1965, for example, when Britain officially abolished the death penalty. Or the signing of the Pacification of Ghent in 1576. And thank goodness for THAT. Just imagine what your life would be like if the Dutch town of Ghent were still full of angry Spaniards.

King Charles the Clueless

November 8th is also the birthday in 1622 of King Charles the 10th of Sweden, who spent most of his time trying to explain to the rest of the world that Sweden and Denmark are actually two completely different countries. By far the most interesting thing about him is that he was actually King Charles the 4th. But King Charles the 9th who was really King Charles the 3rd had chosen his number based on a book he read which he thought was a history of Sweden but which turned out to be a work of fiction. Thank goodness no democratically-elected leader in modern times would ever rely on fictional stories to make important decisions (ahem). The fact that George W. Bush had never read an entire book might actually have been for the best.

It is the birthday in 1836 of Milton Bradley, a wealthy Capitalist and entrepreneur who built a monopoly based on board games, which ironically did not include Monopoly! Instead, Monopoly was the creation of a puritanical do-gooder who wanted to teach people about the evils and moral bankruptcy of Capitalism. The game failed miserably in this goal, and instead became the means of introducing millions of children to the endless joys and wonders of Capitalism. As a consequence, and much to her dismay, the self-righteous do-gooder became a fabulously wealthy Capitalist.

Also born on this day, in 1848, is Gottlob Frege, the German mathematician and logician who elevated Logic from something akin to the disreputable morass of Grecian rhetoric into a respectable branch of mathematics. Presumably he did this in an effort to figure out what on earth his parents were thinking. Next time you use an IF( ) function in Excel or draw a Chance card in Monopoly, thank Gottlob Frege.

Jack Kilby, Inventor of the
Calculator and the
Integrated Circuit.

One individual indebted to Gottlob Frege was the inventor of the integrated circuit, an item that makes prodigious use of Frege's formal mathematical logic. Jack Kilby built and patented the first integrated circuit while working for Texas Instruments in 1958, and was promptly awarded the Nobel Prize. Well, relatively promptly. It apparently took 42 years for the news to reach Sweden. (All their mail was being delivered to Denmark by accident.) In any case, Jack's birthday could only be - you guessed it - November 8th!

Jack Kilby was an engineer after my own heart. He also invented the electronic calculator, which I regard as the greatest invention of all times. If I could put just one item into a time machine and send it to my personal hero Galileo (who famously never did anything on November 8th if he could help it), it would be a solar-powered scientific calculator. He really could have used one. And I have a few extra, including the Texas Instruments TI-30X IIs, which in my studied opinion is the best calculator available today and a direct descendant of Jack Kilby's creation.

Some of the calculators I have owned and used. Best Invention Ever.

Atlas: Not Verified

This day is also the birthday in 1656 of astronomer Edmund Halley, who correctly guessed the periodicity of the object now known as Halley's Comet. It is also the day before the birthday of astronomer and author Carl Sagan. Twelve hundred years or so from now, November 8th will be celebrated by "millions and millions" of people throughout the inhabited Galaxy as Sagan-mas Eve.

Also in Astronomy, it is alleged to be the anniversary of the discovery in 1980 of a 15th moon of Saturn based on images taken by Voyager 1 (there are now at least 62 known moons of Saturn). Try as I may I have not been able to verify this claim, nor verify that the fried-egg-like Atlas was that lucky moon. Actually, this factoid is almost certainly wrong. But if it were true, how awesome would that be?

2005 YU55. Verified.

Verified, however, is the hair-raising near-miss of a 400-meter-wide asteroid, named 2005 YU55 for some reason, passing between the earth and moon on November 8 of 2011. Hey - that's TODAY!!!

If an object of that size were to collide with the earth, it's pretty much lights out for 90% of higher life forms on this planet, and even some politicians too. The chances that it will do so are zero, however. Its trajectory has been very accurately plotted, and it will definitely miss us. We'll be able to get a much better photo of it, though, so that's a bonus.

Bram Stoker's character
scares the hell out of me.

Shouldn't we really call this a near-hit instead of a near-miss?

It is the birthday of scary Irish author Bram Stoker (1874), and notable user of language Gordon Ramsay (1966). It is the day English poet John Milton regained paradise in 1674.

November 8 is the day in 1983 that the amazing James Booker left us for the sunny side of the street. In honor of His Magnificence, please take a moment to listen to one of the great human achievements of all time:

So my friends, enjoy this absolutely amazing, one-of-a-kind day! What will I be doing on this most auspicious occasion? I am going to celebrate by laying in a hammock.

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An Unforgettable Incident, which I had somehow forgotten about.

2011-11-06T10:13:00.003+08:00

I don't know what's more astonishing - the incident itself, or the fact that I managed to forget all about it for five years.

While searching my email archives for a piece of data that for some reason was suddenly a matter of highest importance after years of irrelevance, and which the following day was once again irrelevant, I stumbled upon an email from 2006 in which the following incident, possibly the weirdest food fight that ever took place, is recorded.

I was living in a rented house in Rivervale, WA that was experiencing a problem with the order Rodentia, specifically (har!) Mus Musculus. Fortunately, I had recently purchased 100 standard mousetraps for a science project (don't ask) and was able to divert a few of them to the cause of discomfiting our uninvited guests.

Mus Musculus, or common house mouse.

The little buggers are smarter than they look, and after suffering a few casualties, they learned how to circumvent basic mousetrap technology by exercising unbelievable skill in stealing the bait. This resulted in an escalation of hostilities as I pitted my wits against theirs. I applied myself to making the traps even more sensitive using knowledge acquired as an R&D engineer, while simultaneously making alternative food sources completely unobtainable to them. All cardboard packaging was eliminated, all food was sealed within hard plastic containers, and all surfaces were divested of any food remains after the evening meal each night.

By bending the retaining wire just so and applying a thin film of olive oil, I was able to make the traps so sensitive that they would spontaneously deploy if I so much as failed to tread sufficiently lightly on the kitchen floor. This art claimed three or four more vermin. But there the death toll stayed for some weeks as the wily mice adapted their tactics to mine.

One evening the wife and I were just sitting down to our meal when I looked over and saw a large grey mouse scouring the kitchen floor for our leavings, bold as brass, making no effort to conceal herself, obviously taking advantage of the only opportunity for foraging that I had overlooked. It never occurred to me to clean the kitchen immediately after preparing the meal and before sitting down to enjoy it.

"Quick!" I whispered, not taking my eyes off the intruder, "Give me something to throw!" My startled but clever and self-possessed wife hesitated only very briefly. She picked up the first thing she could see (found in a bowl on the kitchen table, as it turns out) and placed it in my outstretched hand.

It was a medium-sized lemon from the tree in the backyard. I allowed my years of softball training to take control of my arm. On instinct alone without necessarily trying to aim, I threw the lemon hard. To my complete amazement, the lemon struck the mouse square on and killed it dead.

Never the squeamish sort, my wife walked over to the lemony-fresh rodent, picked it up by its lifeless tail and dropped it unceremoniously into the waste bin.

The only mice we saw after that were two young and very stupid mice, orphans obviously, who must take more credit for their own demise than I can. One was silly enough to get into the kitchen sink, from which he was unable to get out again (the sides being too high and smooth). The other got himself tangled up in a plastic grocery bag, which I was shrewd enough to detect. Plastic bags, you see, do not normally make rustling sounds of their own accord. Just call me Sherlock.

I can't imagine how I could have forgotten such a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. I honestly don't know who was more surprised at the thrown lemon's effect - me or the mouse. To be sure, there have been some traumatic and consuming events in the last few years, but what could compare with bagging a mouse with a lemon thrown sidearm while seated at the kitchen table? How many other people can boast of such an accomplishment?

One, at least. My wife had years ago dispatched a mouse in an office were she worked by throwing an order book at it like a frisbee.

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Making Vegetables Edible Again

2011-10-31T09:52:00.002+08:00

For years the "health" community has been trying to eliminate men by getting them to stop eating their vegetables.

Oh, they will certainly deny it, because it is a top-secret, tightly-controlled conspiracy to which only 20 million or so dietitians and doctors worldwide are a party. This gets a little complicated, so bear with me.

First, it was ulcers. Men who had ulcers were put on very strict diets. They were told "You have to stop eating Mexican Food or anything remotely delicious. It's causing ulcers." And their wives fell for it. Consequently, the typical Western dinner table became increasingly bland over the years, and now new generations of homemakers no longer even know the original reason. Spicy was equated to bad.

Then there was fat. Cholesterol became the new suburban boogeyman lurking inside anything even remotely enjoyable: eggs, cheese, sour cream, bacon, whipped cream on top of bacon-flavoured ice cream, and steak. Meat was an innocent bystander in the war on fat. Food became lower in protein, higher in empty calories, and what meat we did consume became more tasteless, tougher, and laden with guilt.

Finally, to complete their triumvirate of tastelessness, dietitians declared war on salt. People were incited to extreme and ludicrous measures to eliminate virtually every source of sodium in food and drink. This is still continuing today, and people unquestioningly obey and defend this corrupt practice.

What does this add up to? If all of the things that make vegetables even remotely palatable are banned, hot spices, cheese, butter, sour cream, bacon, and foremost of all, salt, then no man in his right mind will want to eat them, much less grow them for himself in an act of self-sufficiency and defiance of The System.

And for all their do-gooding and banning, what is the result of dietitians' campaign of tyrany over the male diet? An epidemic of obesity. Round, soft males who can no longer fend for themselves. Lacking testosterone and any will to live, they loll around consuming whatever food-replacement product and bland entertainment the big corporations deem most profitable to provide.

But Now, The Truth.

First, Ulcers. In 1982, Australian scientists Robin Warren and Barry Marshall made the discovery that 80% of stomach ulcers and 90% of intestinal ulcers were caused not by spicy foods at all, but by a specific bacterium. A short course of the right antibiotic takes care of it. For most men, there's no longer any medical reason to be bland. Warren and Marshal were awarded the 2005 Nobel Prize in medicine, presumably by people who like spicy food.

The other 10 - 20% of ulcers are managed not by diet but by stress reduction. Mainly, this means becoming more physically active and thinking differently, both of which we are at perfect liberty to do at all times.

Second, cholesterol. There are countless references to both sides of the question, but a few things are crystal clear. First, cholesterol is not strictly bad, but a vital component of healthy cells in your body. A critical lack of it has even been linked to emotional instability and violent behavior. Second, any link between consumption of cholesterol-bearing foods and heart disease is extremely complex and actually rather weak. The media over-simplifies things by reporting, "Cholesterol causes heart disease." But the data actually support a conclusion more along the lines of, "If you're not physically active enough, heart disease will get you, using your friend cholesterol as a mechanism."

Eliminating fat and cholesterol from your diet is like refraining from putting gasoline in your car because it might explode if you attempt to drive it. The more sensible course of action is simply that - Action! Eat what your body craves, and always be doing things. Life's too short to lay about, anyhow, so get out and enjoy it.

Third, sodium. In 2003 a review by medical researchers revealed that although a low-sodium diet has a tenuous, barely discernable link to lowering high blood pressure, the effect was so slight as to have no measurable impact on overall health. In other words, the enormous effort and cost of our low-sodium diets are not justified by any positive benefit. Far more dramatic reductions in high blood pressure and immediate health benefits are readily observed when people simply exercise physically, and exercise good mental health by not indulging in excessive worry, which is as destructive a habit as compulsive smoking or cutting one's self with knives.

Have you spotted the common theme? Everything's OK to eat if you are physically active. Fortunately for me, there's always plenty to do at the Shed, and most of it is pretty strenuous.

What does this have to do with eating vegetables?

Exploding these deceitful and misandrous dietary myths means you can grow your own vegetables and load them up with as much salt, real butter, melted cheese, spicy seasonings, sour cream and bacon as required to make them edible. A baked potato, for example, is chock full of energy, fiber, vitamin B, vitamin C, potassium, and Wodan knows what else, while at the same time being a highly effective sour cream delivery medium, which is why I eat them. Certainly not for the flavor of potato!

But a person can have too much of a good thing. To stay healthy there is one absolute dietary rule that I hold to without exception most of the time: Only eat when you're actually hungry.

But that's not hard when there's so much to be done and so little time.

How I Injured Myself

2011-10-26T21:55:00.000+08:00

The Temporohumorous Field, a recently-discovered 5th force of nature, causes funny things to become less so later on, and not-funny things to become downright hilarious as time passes.

This happened a few years ago, naturally making it a lot less funny now than it was then. Or is it funnier now, because it was painful at the time that it occurred. Or is it . . . no, I'd better stop now before I injure my brain.

How I Injured Myself at the Shed

I went up to the Shed last weekend with the intention of getting on top of the firewood situation, but I came back with a piece missing.

I've been using a lot of firewood lately due to the chilly Bindoon nights. Fortunately I got my chainsaw working again, so I could finally do something about replenishing the supply. As I was revving away through various logs, tree trunks, branches and the occasional large spider, I wasn't paying the fullest attention to what I was doing. I looked down, and I'm sure you've seen this one coming, I found myself standing in the middle of, yes, you guessed it:

a large pile of firewood.

Some of it was too big for the wood stove and needed to be split. So I put the chainsaw away, got out my trusty Splitting Maul (actually not so trusty as it broke the next day - I suggest getting a steel-handled one as described in the link) and started bashing away. Then, as often happens in these type of situations, the blade missed its mark, glanced off the log and hit the ground, narrowly missing my foot and hitting a large rock instead. With the edge dented, the job would be even harder. So I went inside the Shed and set up the grinding wheel.

As I was leaning in to the grinding wheel to get that perfect edge on my axe, I could feel sparks from the wheel hitting my fingers. I could feel the axe head getting hot, too. I also started to feel very hungry, so I put the axe down, turned off the grinder and went to make a sandwich.

The bread was unsliced, so I got out the cheap thrift-store breadknife that I keep at the Shed and started sawing away, sawing and sawing and sawing back and forth through the bread, when I momentarily became distracted by an interesting thought. "Why am I wasting my time with sandwiches when there's a nice steak in the freezer?"

So I put the useless breadknife away and got out the frozen steak. I decided that while the cast-iron skillet was warming up on the portable gas stove, I would try to trim off some of the fat using my Swiss Army knife. You know how holding a frozen steak with one hand while trying to cut with the other makes your fingers frozen, numb, and more than a little clumsy? Well, that didn't happen to me, because as I was getting the knife out, I had yet another thought.

What else goes really good with steak? Grilled onions! Mmmm.

It was delicious. But I nicked the tip of my left thumb while slicing the onion. You can never be too careful when doing reckless, dangerous things like eating vegetables.

When Lizards Attack

2011-10-23T09:18:00.002+08:00

I was just minding my own business when a gigantic ferocious Australian lizard leaped out of nowhere, grabbed my arm, bit my finger clean off, then began dragging me by the neck off to its lair!!! Fortunately Yvonne came out with a shotgun and blew its head off just in time!!!

That's the kind of blog post that my readers have come to expect. What really happened varies slightly from the fictionalized account.

I was cleaning up the back patio and disturbed the tiny, shy lizard's hiding spot. I cornered him in a plastic tub from which he was unable to escape, and picked him up to get a look at him.

AND THEN HE BIT ME! Yes, that part is technically true, I got a microscopic nip on the finger that I could almost feel.

The tiny docile gecko then slinked up my arm and onto my shoulder just as Yvonne came out of the house and shot it several times.

With the camera, of course!

Then we let it go. Australia isn't always as exciting as it is made out to be in the media and on certain internet sites. And thank goodness for that.

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Fathers and Sons at War

2011-10-18T15:40:00.004+08:00

Star Wars is a modern re-telling of a very ancient saga, although with many of the details changed. History, legend and movies are filled with stories of fathers and sons who must unavoidably confront one another, and often fight to the death.

Original hand-written copy
of the Hildebrandslied from
about 820 AD.

This is the very struggle (though usually metaphorical rather than literal) that almost every man will face in life, and often twice. Once with his father and once more with his son.

One of the oldest and most riveting versions of the father-son legend is the story of Hildebrand and Hadubrand. It takes place in the time of Theoderic, King of the Ostrogoths and his struggle against Odoaker, the first "barbarian" king of Italy following the fall of Rome. Etzel, aka Attila the Hun, looms large in the background of the saga as well.

Hildebrand and Hadubrand are casualties of this protracted war when Hildebrand is forced by Odoaker to leave his homeland (presumably in Schwäbien) and take refuge with Theoderic in the east. He and Theoderic engage in a 30-year running battle with the forces of Odoaker for control over Lombardy.

Meanwhile on the home front, Hildebrand has left behind a wife and young son named Hadubrand, who grows up mainly in the company of women. As everyone knows, it takes a man to raise a man. Only feminists, blind to their own confirmation bias (as is the case with every doctrine-identified group), insist that gender doesn't matter.

Theoderic the Great in battle

And so we find Hadubrand, an angry young man who hates his father for what he assumes was abandonment for personal glory and yet tells everyone who will listen how renown his father was as a warrior.

As fate would have it, Hildebrand and Hadubrand are destined to meet on the field of battle, possibly as Hildebrand attempts to return home. But Hadubrand does not recognize his father and insists that Hildebrand has died in battle in some foreign land. He is blinded by anger and determined to fight this "intruder."

Hildebrand, on the other hand, knows his son perfectly well. Though old, he is a formidable warrior, undefeated in countless battles, and carries vast experience, skill and wisdom. Can he protect his son and pass anything on that will help preserve Hadubrand?

Following is my original English translation from the new high German and referring closely to the original text. (Not many people know I missed getting a BA in German by 5 general course credits . . . I was going to take an economics class or something, but never quite got around to it.)

I heard it told of the Challengers' lonely struggle;
Hildebrand and Hadubrand, standing betwixt two armies.
Father and son prepared their armor, straightened their battle garments,
And girt on their swords over their armor as they rode out to fight.

Hildebrand son of Heribrand, the older and more experienced man,
Spoke with few words inquiring of the other,
Who among the people was his father, or of which tribe he belonged.

"Name any one to me, then I will know the rest of your kin,
For known unto me are all great men of the realm."

Hadubrand son of Hildebrand spoke, "The people tell me,
The old and the wise, they that were alive at the time,
That Hildebrand my father was, and I am Hadubrand.
He rode away into the east, fleeing the wrath of Odoaker
And took up with Theoderic and his warriors,
Leaving in poverty his bride and infant son;
Without inheritence rode he into the east.

And Theoderic having no friend suffered my father's presence.
He angered Odoaker mightily and was Theoderic's most beloved warrior,
Always at the vanguard in battle, always yearning to fight.
Renown was he, the bravest of all,
Yet I know he lives no more."

Then spake Hildebrand, "Would to God that you never
Are brought to battle with your own kin!"
Then took he from his own arm the plaited mail,
Fashioned of royal gold, a gift to him of the King,
The Ruler of the Huns.

He said, "This give I you as a token of friendship."

Hadubrand son of Hildebrand spake,
"Our gifts will be exchanged by the speer,
Point against point!
You think yourself exceedingly clever, old Hun,
To tempt me with your words whilst launching your speer at me?

You are an old man and full of deceit.
Sailors told me that he fell in battle far in the west, over the ocean.
Hildebrand son of Heribrand is dead."

Then spake Hildebrand son of Heribrand, who was not dead,
"I see well from your armor that you have a good master,
And have never been banished of your realm.

God knows, though, that trouble comes.
I wandered abroad threescore seasons, summers and winters,
Where I was ever in battle.

If I could not be killed at the gates of some foreign fortress,
Will my own child smite me with the sword,
Cut me down with the blade, or make me to be his killer?
You could easily win from so old a man his armor
And rob his spoils - if your strength holds out."

Said Hildebrand more, "Even the faintest of the Ostrogoth
Would not refuse you battle, seeing as you lust so for it.
So let us commence and discover
Who will wear this armor and who must lay it down."

Then sent they both their speers of ash flying
Which impaled upon their shields,
And they rode hard against one another
And smote furiously until both shields were destroyed in pieces,
and ...

You may have noticed that the ending of the legend is missing. The story was written on two pieces of scrap paper at the Benedictine monastery at Fulda, and if a third sheet ever existed, it is now lost these 1200 years. If you were Hildebrand, what would you do? Kill your son, or allow him to kill you in his anger?

Or is there a third option?

Yes, there is. It is this option that comprises 98% of fatherhood. Stay engaged as long as you physically can, thereby passing some of your skill and wisdom on to your son in spite of his resistance. I like to imagine that Hildebrand resisted being struck down until he was sure Hadubrand's skill was up to the task of preserving him against a determined enemy. That he gave no killing blow unless he was sure of Hadubrand's ability to defend against it. This is indeed a narrow line to walk, even when the stakes aren't life and death itself.

Someday perhaps Hadubrand will realize that the man he fought was his hero, the legendary Hildebrand that he loved and hated, and that Hildebrand's life and final act was one of devotion to his son.

Feelin' Blue

2011-10-17T11:50:00.003+08:00

I've been feeling mighty blue lately. The only cure for that is to get together with some mates and play the Blues, loud and fast.

Fortuitously, a local Blues club had "organized" (and I use the term loosely) a jam night at the Medina pub for Saturday night, Oct 15. Medina is a suburb about half an hours' drive south of the city, and like many such places half an hour from a major city, it is the sort of place best seen after sundown.

My mate Tim and I got together the day prior for a practice session, a sneak peak of which is provided below. We hadn't played together for perhaps a year, or six months at least. Blues musicians don't keep very good records of those sort of things. In any case, it had been a long time and we spent two or three hours (see - it was only last week and already the basic facts are becoming blurred) to find each other's tempo and groove.

The following evening we converged on Medina only to find that the pub was dark and locked up. Closed. No cars in the parking lot. The place was empty and deserted.

ON A SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!

What the hell kind of pub is closed on a Saturday night? The Medina pub, for one. It seems that the Disorganizers of the blues jam had decided to quit and not to tell everybody. It wasn't hard to spot Tim driving around looking for the place. His was nearly the only other car on the road. We made a couple of extremely indignant phone calls and left a polite but sternly worded message on the "organizers" voicemail.

Then we called it a night. Perhaps one day we'll organize our own Blues jamming club, one that will be renown for its dependability. It could be the first ever of its kind.

Keeping it Clean

2011-10-16T16:38:00.003+08:00

I'm not exactly sure how, but supposedly I'm related to this guy, a very funny blogger who writes about his adventures as a Slacker Dad. In his post of 15 October, he confesses his true degree of domicile domestication by revealing some actual housekeeping activities he has committed even though no one would be the wiser were they to be "postponed." To my way of thinking, cleaning something that is twice as dirty never takes twice as long.

National productivity could therefore be increased (and the economy saved once and for all) by simply extending the intervals at which many routine cleaning and housekeeping chores are undertaken.

For example, I have never, ever washed my truck. Not even a little. I figure, it always rains eventually, after which the truck looks as good as . . . well, as good as it needs to look. And it will just get dirty again shortly after that. So who am I to interfere with the natural order of life?

Keeping the Shed neat and tidy is also an exercise in cost-benefit analysis. If the dirt, debris, dead spiders and gravel one finds in the Shed interferes with something important enough, then it gets cleaned. Not until.

Even then, cleaning is done in as expeditious a manner as possible. I use the most available horsepower, the largest broom I can physically push, and the harshest chemicals legally obtainable to get the job done fast. Often, it doesn't come to that, and I encounter few situations that a damp microfiber rag can't handle.

"Honey, I'm going to clean the bathroom.
Do we have any more gasoline?"

Most bathrooms and lavatories in Australia are tiled, floor and walls, and by law they must be equipped with a drain in the floor. That is an excellent feature which sadly goes unused by many of your non-male segments of the population. A floor drain means that when a lavatory gets to the point where not even the spiders will go in there, you can get a garden hose, or better still, a Pressure Washer, and sort it right out in a few seconds flat.

I clean the outdoor dunny at the Shed by tossing a bucket of water in through the open door as I am passing by. If I happen to think of it at the time.

Another time and energy-saving tip I learned here in the Outback is how to do laundry without really trying. The sad fact is that after eleven or twelve days, those jeans ARE going to need a wash. But don't stress about finding a coin-op laundry out in the Australian bush! Just pry them off and put them in a bucket with a tight-sealing lid. Put a few inches of water and some laundry powder in there, too, and seal it up. Then throw it in the back of your ute and go about your business.

If you have a second pair of jeans, now would be a good time to get them. Not that there's anyone out there to see your pimply white legs, but jeans are essential protection from the plants and creatures of the outback, and the unforgiving sun. Only tourists wear shorts.

While driving along any of rural Australia's many fine motorways (snort!), your bucket o' laundry will be jostled, jolted, shaken and agitated better than if it were in that machine at the paint store. By the time you get where your going, which due to the sheer scale of the place could be days, your clothes will be clean as new. Just give them a quick rinse, throw them over a branch, and within minutes they will be dry and ready to wear again.

Environmental cost: zero (0) additional energy and about a half a gallon of water used.

Financial cost: $0.0002 in laundry powder. Why doesn't everyone do this?

Oh, yeah. Most people have a washing machine at their house.

New, Corrected Map of Australia

2011-10-15T10:09:00.000+08:00

The Department of Tourism released a new, corrected map of Australia especially for tourists.

So that when you plan your visit to Australia you'll know what you're getting yourselves in for.

They have also begun offering new, simplified instructions for how to get here and free visa applications, but so far no one has taken them up on it. Can't understand why!

The Best Australian Stuff is . . . Chinese?

2011-10-04T18:10:00.001+08:00

A famous political quote that I am unable to attribute properly, so I will instead have to plagiarize, is the following: "Geography is Destiny." While most of Australia thinks it is actually England (tiny houses, tiny cars driving to tiny shops on tiny, hobbit-sized roads), Australia is actually part of Asia. Its biggest neighbor is the third-largest country (by population) in the world and the largest Muslim country anywhere, Indonesia.

This has certain advantages. Electronics are relatively cheap, and there's some interesting Indonesian, Malaysian, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese and Indian food to be sampled. The rich, fatty, spicy goodness of Indian food in particular helps fill the void in my life created by the absence of proper Mexican food.

In the 60's, the niche of market gardens and veggie shops was filled mainly by Italian immigrants. That industry today is dominated by Asian immigrants. Our local veggie shop, like many others, is a family-run operation. The girls at the till are family members, and are therefore part-owners through Discretionary Family Trusts and other quite sophisticated financial structures. These people do their homework, and they learn fast. I respect that.

Because there are no employees, only part-owners in the business, the service is excellent. In a veggie shop there are no bar code scanners, only nimble brains and quick fingers that know the price of every last item in the store off by heart. It takes even less time to check out at the veggie shop than it does in the normal supermarket with their scanners emitting a steady rhythm of BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

At the veggie shop, when you go to check out, the girl looks up from texting on her cell phone and peeks into your basket of produce. She adds up the more obvious figures in her head and taps it into the cash register without looking while placing items sold by weight onto the scales. They have never made a mistake that I am aware of.

One extra benefit of shopping at the chinese veggie place is their unusual selection of odd things. There are vegetables I've never heard of, fruits I can't pronounce, strange herbs, and cans or bottles of substances that westerners don't even have a word for in English, much less know how to use. And they have a very eclectic assortment of Asian soft drinks (mainly tea or animal flavoured) but also including a few American soft drinks that are traditionally popular in Asia.

I already knew that Singaporean A&W Root Beer was sometimes available, but today I made an exciting new discovery: Welch's Grape Soda.

My First Grape Soda in over 10 years on these shores.

I remember when this product first came out. It is an authentic, uncompromising product chock-full of sugar, artificial flavours and so much artificial purple coloring that even the foam has a blue tinge. I really respected it for that. It was my second-favorite drink. And now I know where to get it in Australia.

At only $3 a can.

On close inspection, one finds it is imported from Korea.
Not being able to read the ingredients is, on the whole,
probably for the best.

Time Stands Still

2011-10-02T11:45:00.000+08:00

Is this clock special?

This story begins, oddly enough, when a friend asked me to represent him at an auction out of concern that his attendance would alert his rivals to the presence of something really valuable on offer. He was hoping the item, a convict-made piece of furniture, would go unnoticed and sell for perhaps a few hundred dollars. It didn't, and we were out-bid by at least two other collectors who knew perfectly well what the item was. It eventually sold for $3800.

While I was at the auction place, I noticed an old clock and made an offer for it. Not because it might be a valuable antique, but really just because I like fixing old clocks. And something told me this clock was special.

It turns out the clock won't be valuable at all - it's old, but not that old. 1950's or 60's most likely. And part of the fun will be trying to find out more about it. There are no brand marks anywhere on the clock. Stamped on the movement itself are only the words "Made in Württemberg" and the number "50."

Front of movement, showing chime
timing mechanism.

The wood isn't solid timber, but a laminate somewhat more solid than your average plywood.

So what's so special about this clock? The chimes. The quarter-hour Westminster chimes have the sweetest, most musical tone I've heard from a clock, and well worth having around in my opinion. When I get it going again I'll make a video so you can hear it and see exactly how a clock like this works.

Ruptured pendulum suspension.

Back at the Shed, I carefully disassembled the clock for restoration and discovered what had to be done. First, the easy bits. I"ll have to do something with the case, perhaps a varnish or lacquer. The metal trim can be polished easily enough, and it needs a new winding key. Also, the pendulum suspension is broken, but I happen to know that this is a standard part and easily replaced.

Now the hard bits. The face is a lost cause, unless I go to the trouble of re-silvering it and hand-painting the numerals and divisions. Fat chance. Think I'll buy a replica face instead. This isn't a valuable antique, after all. If something's not worth doing at all, it's not worth doing properly.

Finally, the real issue. The hourly chimes were not working, and the reason is this. In Australia, the condition of this cog is something we refer to as being "Stuffed." This is going to be a bit of a worry. I know it's a 72-tooth volute spur gear, or at least it USED to be. But the pitch diameter will need to be precisely measured, and it may or may not turn out to be a standard size. It is possible that a replacement gear, which would need to be pressed onto the shaft using a customized fixture, could cost ten times what this clock is worth.

But as they say: in for a penny, in for a pound.

Kookaburra

2011-10-01T16:36:00.001+08:00

The Laughing Kookaburra, Dacelo novaeguineae of the Kingfisher family (one of two species in Australia), was introduced to Perth in 1898. It is not native to Western Australia.

Its name comes from an extinct aboriginal language and means "Hahahaha heeheeheehee hahaha hoo hoo hoo hoo heheheheheheheh," which is also an approximation of the bird's unmistakable call.

Photographed at Bindoon this week.

Kookaburras are smart and fearless. I knew of a particularly smart one at the University of Western Australia where he held the position of professor of experiential ornithology and notorious sandwich thief.

Sitting on the branch of a tree some thirty-five feet away from an open-air cafe on the verandah of the library, this bird could time his flight so perfectly and anticipate humans' actions so well that he could leave his branch just as you picked up your sandwich and as you lifted it to your mouth, snatch it right out of your hands, zooming inches past your face. He would then alight at a nearby table and eat your sandwich in front of you, daring you to do something about it.

Kookaburras also hunt lizards, snakes, small mammals, and many, many cute baby ducklings. So they can't be all bad.

All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Buffet for the Kookaburra

And in case the name Kookaburra becomes too boring for you to utter, you can choose from these nicknames:

Bushman's Clock

Ha-Ha Pigeon

Breakfast Bird

Jacko

Photographed in 2005

It's a Small World

2011-09-28T21:21:00.005+08:00

Well, Australia sure as heck isn't. But Italy apparently is.

I met a man named Nick recently. He's a real estate agent, a very nice guy, and an excellent driver. He moved to Australia from Italy with his parents when he was 7 years old shortly after the war, and four years ago he paid a long-overdue visit to his birthplace. Nick told me this amazing story that happened to him on his trip.

At a local cafe, the woman behind the counter asked him which part of America he was from (making a safe assumption, since he was obviously an English-speaking tourist and rather under-tall for his weight).

Nick: No, actually I'm from Australia.

Woman: Is that so? Which part?

Nick: Western Australia.

Woman: Really? Which part of Western Australia?

Nick (unsure of how well she knows Western Australian geography): Um, sort of around the Perth area.

Woman: Oh. Is that anywhere near Hamilton Hill?

Nick (very surprised): Hamilton Hill is a suburb of Perth, one of about 200 or so, but also happens to be where I live!

Woman: Interesting. See, I have a brother-in-law who lives in Hamilton Hill. His name is Vincenzo T----.

Nick (falling out of his chair): That's . . . that's my Uncle Vinnie!

Woman (looking closer at him): . . . Niccola? Is that you? Mio nipote!

Exactly how big IS this place?

2011-09-26T16:08:00.002+08:00

The States and Territories of Australia are New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, Queensland, Northern Territories, Australian Capital Territory (ACT) (basically Canberra), and Western Australia.

Oh, and Tasmania, too, but we always forget them because they're not attached to the main continent. And that infuriates them to no end.

I've mentioned before that the state of Western Australia (they didn't strain themselves thinking up a name, did they?) occupies nearly 2% of the Earth's land area. Just how big is that?

WA could hold three and a half Texases. Texans also outnumber Western Australians 11 to 1, so by our standards, the Lone Star state is a pretty crowded place.

California fits into WA six and a quarter times, and there are 16 Californicators for every West Australian. I'm pretty sure that's what they're calling themselves these days. But I don't watch the news much, so I could be wrong.

Arizona or Nevada would both fit into WA 8 or 9 times, but only Nevada has a similar population (2.6 million versus 2.3 million in WA). It has other odd similarities, too.

While there are roughly four New Jersey-ites for every one West Australian, we could fit that teeny, tiny weeny little state inside WA 132 times. One hundred and thirty two New Jerseys!

But we're not going to do that. Because then there would be 1.14 BILLION New Jersey-ites, and a fine mess that would be.

That Good Ol' Southern Cooking. (Southern Hemisphere, that is.)

2011-09-26T12:17:00.005+08:00

Want to learn more about yourself, your culture and your native country than you ever thought possible? Then do what I did. Move overseas for a decade or so.

I've been in Australia for 10 years give or take, and I'm still finding out new things. Things about America as often as about Australia. For instance, I never understood the extent to which Americans unconsciously rely on Shopping and Food as the solution to everything. And don't get me started about shopping FOR food.

Too late!

Looking for your favorite breakfast cereal? Forget it. There are two varieties of sugary cereals in Australia. One of them is fruity-rings and the other I can't even think of because it's so incredibly boring. Australia's coasts were charted by Captains Cook, Dampier, Hartog and Flinders, but Captain Crunch evidently never ventured this far south. Count Chocula simply cannot endure the exeptionally bright sunlight. Australian school children are so good at reading that letter-based sweetened oat cereal is completely unnecessary (and unavailable). Although there are large numbers of Irish here, none of them seem to have remembered to bring their Lucky Charms. They say Trix are for kids, but they really mean only non-Australian kids. Instead, the typical Australian breakfast table is provided with something called Weet Bix. I was offered this during my first week here. My host asked if we have something similar in America. After chewing for a moment, I said, "Yes. We call it 'Cardboard.'"

I subsist largely on a diet of red meat and peanut butter sandwiches, so my first forays into Australian grocery stores were not particularly ambitious. Yet they were still frustrating. If you buy beef here, don't waste your time or money on the cheap stuff unless you're going to stew it in a slow-cooker for a "fortnight" (an Australian unit of time equal to how long it takes a plumber to turn up). It took me a while to discover that really good beef was available, but you had to either drive to a cattle-raising area and dine at the local pub, or pay at least $15 per pound.

64 oz (2 kg) Family Size

One happy discovery was Lamb. If you're an American and you don't like lamb, you have excellent taste. Lamb is generally terrible in the U.S. But please give Australian lamb a try. It alone is worth the trip. Australian lamb is probably the third Best Thing about Australia in my opinion.

When I buy peanut butter in America, I have plenty of options. I can choose from 8 different brands, most of which come in five different sizes: Convenience size, Normal size, Family size, Economy size, and Preparing For Armageddon (44-gallon drum, your choice of smooth, crunchy, or super-chunk). In Australia, there are two brands and two sizes, the smaller of which is almost enough for one whole sandwich. Wow.

Minnie Hamilton Cash in 1891
at age 19, on her wedding day.

Because my Great-Grandmother Cash was a southern lady who went out west in 1900, my family still has a taste for Southern cooking and some recipes handed down. My own mother, in addition to being a professional educator, accomplished pianist, one of my three favorite artists, and an excellent driver, is also a wonderful cook. I failed to appreciate this fact until I moved out on my own. The following Thursday I phoned her up and asked how she manages to get her pie crusts so tender and flaky.

When I came to Australia, my problem was first converting all of Minnie Cash's recipes into metric. That felt weird, and was harder than it sounds. Butter in the US is measured in ounces of volume, but in Australia is measured in grams of mass. Does anyone know the density of butter? I do.

The other problem was locating all of the ingredients. Corn flour? Well, I bought a rectangular box that said Corn Flour right on the front, but it turned out to be Corn Starch instead. I should have expected that, because when I asked for corn starch, I was shown an aerosol can with a picture of a shirt on it. It took me a few years to work out that corn meal was filed under P for Polenta. (For some reason, in Australia the most-spoken language other than English is Italian.)

Another Waffle Catastrophe

Crisco? Nope. Not available here. Closest approximation is something called "Copha" and it comes in a very small block and not a large tub. It's also hard and doesn't blend right. Bisquick? I wish. I've never yet had a really good waffle here. Baking powder? There is something by that name used for the same purpose, but it's never real baking powder. It tastes funny. It doesn't rise half as well. None of my recipes worked. I tried every brand (both of them). Today I get all my baking powder from the US.

Even ordinary wheat flour seems to respond differently to moisture. After converting all my recipes into metric, I've had to adjust the proportions of everything. To this day I've never managed to make a respectable Cornbread that my great-grandma Cash would approve of.

And then there's the language barrier. Biscuits (a Cash recipe: flour, salt, baking powder, lard, milk) are one of my favorite breakfast foods, but in Australia, a cookie is a biscuit, and a biscuit is a "scone" (rhymes with gone) served in the afternoon, not at breakfast. Where I'm from a "scone" (rhymes with bone) is a yeast dough fried in oil, served with powdered sugar and honey. Mentioning biscuits therefore causes significant confusion and misunderstanding.

Cilantro, a necessary ingredient for Mexican food, doesn't exist here. Unheard-of. Unobtainable. Impossible to get. Coriander, on the other hand, is plentiful and easily obtainable. Fortunately, they are exactly one and the same thing.

People often ask me what Australian cuisine is like. Well, that's a hard question to answer. Australia doesn't really have a cuisine of its own, unless you count plain over-cooked meat, which isn't exactly unique. I've always held that the biggest problem with Australia is that it was started by Britain, home of such culinary innovations as boiled beef and exotic dishes such as "potatoes." From the English, we have meat pies, sausages with big, hard pieces of gristle or cartilage in them, and fish and chips.

While TV shows about cooking and food are extremely popular here, Australians in general seem to take very little notice of what they eat or how they prepare it. "It's food if you can keep it down ya." Baked beans and toast is eaten breakfast, lunch and dinner by the arch-typical "Aussie Battler" (the economically disadvantaged, and proud of it). A "burger" can be anything including sometimes beef, served on bread with a fried egg and sliced beets. Yes, beets, as in "that gross vegetable nobody eats on purpose."

World's Best Root Beer.

I've mentioned the absence of Mexican food before. There is something called "guacamole" for sale in the stores here. It is a smooth, pale green, bland dip made from cream and has real, genuine "Avocado Guacamole" printed right on the packaging. Those letters are the only relation this product bears to actual Guacamole. In Australia, the best guacamole is that which I make myself. It's chunky, spicy, and it doesn't involve cream in any way. I also make the best burritos in the entire country, as well as the only serviceable flour tortillas (flour, lard, salt water, four hours, then roll so thin you can see through it). My own pizza is also the best approximation to genuine American pizza. Unless you happen to like beets.

World's Best Ginger Beer

While Coke and Pepsi are needlessly abundant, the more interesting soft-drinks aren't. The only Root Beer available in Australia is canned A&W imported from Singapore. As an alternative, I've discovered that the world's best Ginger Beer is made in Tasmania (the forgotten Australian state).

Why are silly things like food important to me? I didn't realize they were until they weren't available. The only way for a fish to understand water is to take it out for a while. Will I ever go back to the US? As long as I can get an occasional fix of Mexican food, Root Beer and waffles every so often, and have a supply of proper baking powder, I'm content to stay for a while.

The Lamb is excellent.

Southern Cooking:		Australian Cooking:

RedBack Where I Belong

2011-09-21T17:45:00.002+08:00

Latrodectus Hasselti, or the Australian Redback Spider, normally does not come out during the day, preferring to hide in small crevices close to the ground. Since we have been getting a lot of rain the last few days (this being towards the end of the Australian winter and Perth's wet season), I hypothesize that this small-ish specimen has been temporarily flooded out of her usual abode. This provides you and me with a very rare opportunity!

There it was, up close, not moving, with the remains of a recent meal nearby, and with scarcely a thought of springing suddenly onto my face and biting my nose. This doesn't happen very often.

On Monday, I got out the Nikon, grabbed the small Tripod and waited for the sun to come out.

On Wednesday, the sun came out for a few moments. And here are the results:

Latrodectus Hasselti, Australian Redback Spider

A crevice of a brick wall isn't the greatest place to try to hide, but it might have gotten away with it had it not been right next to the front door of my house where I had to nervously edge past every time I came or went. But it's still far better than the time I shared a shower with one of these creatures dangling by a single strand of web inches from my unclothed torso.

My reaction then was to immediately and decisively drop the soap and say, "WTF? Are you KIDDING me?"

See, that's what the experts say you're supposed to do.

As a reward for posing so obligingly for these photos, I generously provided this creature with a lifetime supply of imiprothrin (0.7 g/kg) and cypermethrin (2.0 g/kg) in aerosol form. That's only about one half-second squirt, seeing as how its lifetime was to be just 45 more seconds.

Driving In Oz

2011-09-19T09:27:00.001+08:00

We spend a large portion of our short time on this blue rock behind the wheel of a vehicle. The experience of living in a foreign country is therefore defined in large measure by the experience of driving in a foreign country. I was thinking about this while driving up to Bindoon to spend a few days decompressing and composing myself at the Shed. I was going to say "decomposing myself," but realized that isn't quite the right word. The difficulty is that in order to reach solitude and peace, I am forced to endure the least relaxing thing in the known universe: Traffic.

As much as I complain about Perth traffic, I am told that Sydney is far, far worse. No planning whatsoever went in to most pre-Federation Australian cities. Roads are scattered higglety-pigglety every which way, and woefully under-built for the number of cars attempting to use them. You can never go in a straight path from one place to another, but are forced to zig-zag, double back, and negotiate multiple turns, merges, and oddly-shaped intersections.

Things don't improve when you get out of town. The narrow, meandering two-lane country road that takes me up to Bindoon is called The Great Northern Highway (for some reason) and is the main artery connecting Perth to the entire north of the state of Western Australia, a state which comprises nearly 2% of the Earth's land surface! TWO PERCENT!

Police propaganda claims that speed is the enemy. I completely disagree. I speed multiple times every day and I am clearly not dead, much less dead 10,000 times over. All the multi-car accidents I ever had (3) were at speeds of 10 mph or less. Speed doesn't cause accidents, but it definitely makes them worse. The true cause of accidents is driver inattention and improperly designed and built roads. Even vehicle failure at high speeds (wheel falls off, etc) need not be fatal if a) the driver is paying attention and knows what to do, and b) the road has been built correctly.

Traffic engineers everywhere except Australia understand that a road is safe when it is Straight, Wide and Flat. The Great Northern Highway is none of these. What's more, it carries a large amount of the most incompatible traffic imaginable: people like me with places to go and things to do, and those with nowhere to go and all day to get there.

That's right. Old people towing caravans.

("Caravan" is the Australian word for "travel trailer.")

They trundle along at 45 mph (80 kph) in a 70 mph (110 kph) zone. The driver always wears a hat. The passenger is a shriveled old woman who can't see over the dashboard, though at least, thank goodness, she is not driving. And there won't be any place to pass them for miles and miles.

Unless, that is, you know this road like the back of your hand and are occasionally very lucky. This last trip I was exceptionally lucky. I passed two "road trains" (semi trucks with multiple trailers) and two caravans in my battered Toyota truck. Because it has 445,000 kms (276,000 miles) and no discernible acceleration, you have to get a running start to have a hope of passing anything. And you have to know when to begin, based on where the rare straight stretches of road are found.

About a mile before I knew a chance was coming, I fell back a hundred yards or so behind a car towing a caravan. Then I dropped down into third and floored it. About a minute and a half later, I came up on the caravan's rear bumper just as a long straight stretch of the highway became visible, and as luck would have it, there was no oncoming traffic. Without losing any momentum I popped out into the oncoming lane going about 50 mph with the 1.8 liter engine screaming and the truck rattling and straining. The truck edged ever so slowly past the caravan. I looked over at the driver and noticed he was wearing a hat. I could not see the passenger, possibly because she was too shriveled and buried under a folding paper map which I could tell was being less helpful than they imagined.

Looking forward, I noticed a car had come into view heading towards me at a combined speed of 130 mph. Roads that are not straight and flat can easily hide cars until they are right on top of you. That's what makes them dangerous. And being narrow, there is no escape. Trees have been allowed to grow perilously close to the road. But by then I had found 4th gear and was edging past the caravan at 60 mph, almost able to visualize finally reaching the posted limit of 110 kph or 68.3 mph. I swung back into the left lane well before the oncoming car flashed past. The man in the hat made an angry, hand-waving gesture at me. What a knob.

Of course if instead of the truck I take my ageing BMW with its 2.5 liter race-bred straight 6 engine and 5-speed automatic, passing isn't a problem. I just put my right foot down, and caravans and all other nuisances disappear behind me.

My first three months in Australia learning to drive on the left side of the road were very exciting, both for me and for the other drivers. (Exiting parking lots or "kah pahks" for some reason presented the most difficulty.) So I have a certain amount of patience with other drivers as long as they are at least making an effort to get out of people's way.

One thing that most Australian drivers understand which leaves American drivers utterly confused is the Roundabout. An alternative to the ridiculous and dangerous 4-way stop intersection, a roundabout is a one-way circle at which you only have to look and yield to one direction while everyone else yields to you. When used properly, no one ever has to stop. If there's a car already in the roundabout and likely to cross in front of you, you just slow down a little so that you swing in right behind that car. But it means you have to pay attention, look ahead, and plan ahead. Admittedly that's asking far too much of some drivers.

Typical Roundabout

I've seen a few of these useful innovations appearing in the United States on recent visits home, and they are evidently too much for American drivers to cope with. They approach, stop, look all directions, and then proceed down the wrong way entirely. But in Australia as in other parts of the world that have used roundabouts for decades, they work very well because people grew up knowing how they work. Roundabouts save time, reduce congestion, are safer than intersections, and cost far less to install and maintain than traffic lights.

I always drive anywhere I go as though my hair was on fire. This minimizes the amount of time spent on dangerous roads, and is therefore statistically the safest thing to do. While I realize certain members of the geriatric public will find that terrifying and rude, they really have nothing to fear. I am totally focused on the road and on other cars. I don't blabber mindlessly on a cell phone or allow my mind to wander aimlessly while holding peoples' lives in my hand, and I look as far ahead as possible. I get out of people's way promptly and efficiently without causing unnecessary delays, even if that means occasionally going around a corner on two wheels. To my way of thinking, driving unnecessary slow with a tail of cars behind you is the most inconsiderate, rude, and thoughtless thing a person can be guilty of. Why do elderly people drive so slow? It doesn't make any sense, when you think about it.

When you don't have that much time left, you shouldn't waste a moment of it! Get where you're going as fast as possible. And if you get a few points on your license, so what? You don't need a drivers' license to get into heaven. St. Peter isn't going to call up your driving record on his computer terminal. Besides, if you make it all the way to retirement and STILL either don't know how to drive, don't own a really fast car, or don't have your own uniformed chauffeur, you just haven't been paying attention.

If you believe, as I do, that life on this planet is precious and short, then why not also drive that way: with your fullest attention on what you're doing and your right foot pressed down hard.

I Remain Unconcerned

2011-09-17T18:31:00.000+08:00

I only looked up because of the noises caused by this behemoth crashing into things while flying around the Shed. I am TRYING to read, if you don't mind! The noise didn't stop, so with a sigh of exasperation I got up, found a jar, caught the thing, and popped it in the freezer. Then I went back to my book, "The Nutmeg of Consolation."

A chapter later, I remembered the bug. Oops.

It had a lot more fur than I feel is strictly necessary, a hard shell, and far too many sharp barbs on its legs. It was also about the size of my thumb.

The human mind has the ability to magnify things according to how unpleasantly they are behaving. This means that if this bug were buzzing around your living room, it will appear to be the size of a tennis ball. If your wife sees it in the kitchen, she will observe it to be the size of a grapefruit. In the bathroom, it will appear to be about the size of a basketball.

Resting on your pillow, it actually dwarfs a Labrador. And is twice as hairy.

But in the Shed it's just another Australian bug. Albeit one of the larger ones I have personally been brave enough to touch, even when frozen solid.

More Bugs Than You Can Shake a Stick At.

2011-09-12T10:53:00.002+08:00

And believe you me, you can shake a stick at an impressive number of bugs if you set your mind to it. I had the opportunity once, in the back room of a natural history museum where there was row after row of cabinets full of insect storage trays. There were so many, I was only just able to shake a stick at them all. Thousands upon thousands of separate species of bugs of every kind, each identified, pinned and labeled in a tray with scores of other species all meticulously sorted by genre and family, the culmination of many lifetimes of dedicated work. What a waste!

They're only bugs, after all. A couple of cans of Raid could have sorted them out just as well. And if you want to see bugs in endless variety, just come out to Australia. The coastal scrubland north of Perth has nothing remarkable about it until you take a closer look. Some 40 million years of geological stability created the right conditions for an explosion of biodiversity, resulting in perhaps millions of species of plants, insects and and spiders, many of which are still unknown to science. That Noah must have had to make thousands of trips down here and back, and he must have been really good at catching spiders. I wonder that Mrs. Noah didn't have something to say about it.

But for someone who cares nothing about words like "biodiversity," "genre," and "Linnaeus," they're just curiosities that wander in front of my camera lens from time to time. Sometimes making a detour through my freezer to make them more compliant models. Five minutes usually does it, and as they slowly thaw out and stretch their ridiculously numerous limbs, you can take all the pictures you want from every angle. Longer than that, and they come out dead. Be careful not to forget and leave them in the freezer for weeks, because someone might find your frozen specimens and think you're some kind of a psychopath who is starting out small. Or that you have some very odd dietary habits.

Below is a gallery of just a few of the weird creatures I have encountered by doing nothing more than hanging around Western Australia with a camera. Imagine what a really dedicated person could do. Bore us all to tears, most likely.

Remember, you can click on the images to see them larger.

The blue-green eyeballs of this large fly caught my attention. The exquisite detail and subtle coloring made no difference whatsoever when my swatter got involved.

I don't know about you, but I've never really looked deeply into a cricket's eyes before. Don't think I'll bother doing it again, though. It's kind of creepy.

I discovered this large Redback living inside one of my son's outdoor toys when he was about five. Constant vigilance is essential. Panic is optional.

Lest we paint all Australian critters with the same malevolent brush, here's a friendly, harmless and cute (in his own way) animal my son kept as a pet for about 6 months. He named it Pickett, The Bush Cricket. He had a soothing melodious song played by sliding his wings together that went something like "zzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZIP!" OK, it got a little repetitive after about the 400 thousandth time, just like the original Pickett. But he didn't eat much, didn't get hair all over everything, never at any time chewed the cord off my power drill, and never needed to go to the vet. Except maybe once, but by the time we knew anything about it, it was too late.

Also friendly and harmless is this Walking Stick I found, seen here posing for the camera. I only wish I could somehow give you a sense of its true size.

Harmless weevil, wondering where the heck he is.

Another marginally less harmless weevil, this one of the Punk variety.

If you were forced to eat one of these, which one would it be? That's right. You must always choose the lesser of two weevils.

Weird Bug in the shape of a hairy bowler hat.

Scary orange and black wasp, digging a hole. Yes, it shocked me too. No, I can't imagine why, either. But there it was. Digging for all it was worth.

Feathery moth caught in the rain.

Ghostly grey spider. Never seen anything like it before or since.

Nasty, evil Kangaroo Tick. I do not like them, Sam I am. I do not like them on a farm, I do not like them on my arm. I will not have one as an egg, I will not have one in my leg.

At first I didn't realize this was a bug at all. Then I saw it move! It is the strangest thing I think I've seen yet. Is it a type of cricket that has been stretched out? What does it imagine in that tiny brain that it is doing in my Shed?

See, THIS is what a cricket is supposed to look like.

Except perhaps not quite so . . . pink.

Fancy Green Moth. I find it easier to name them myself rather than trying to look it up somewhere. It's less work that way.

One more:

Christmas Spider. Would somebody tell me, please, what the hell kind of place has Christmas Spiders? Halloween Spiders, OK. That would probably work. But spiders just don't go with any Christmas I understand.

I suppose they are somewhat festive and decorative in a way. Maybe it's an Australian thing. More on these come December at The Shed.

How To Lie in a Hammock

2011-09-08T08:42:00.003+08:00

It's not junk food. It's not driving slightly over the posted limit. It's not carrying a few extra pounds around the middle. It's not chlorine or fluorine in the drinking water. It isn't those overhead high-voltage power lines (an awe-inspiring monument to what separates Man from the animals: his ability to make electricity). Neither is it drinking from plastic bottles, cooking salty food in a teflon pan, or licking cholesterol-based pork-flavored frosting directly off of aluminium pots. It's not even duct-taping a dozen active cell phones to your head and calling all of them at once. None of these things can actually kill you.

Stress is the real killer. Do something about stress, and these other risk factors take care of themselves. Ignore stress, and you're caught in a non-stop game of whack-a-mole with a never-ending stream of environmental health hazards, many of which you can do nothing about. But what can your average Joe do about stress? Plenty.

When men are relaxed, composed, well-rested and get the required amount of sleep, they perform better on the job, have stronger marriages, have better relationships with their kids, fewer car accidents, fewer health problems, more hair, and a longer schwanz.

(Well, probably. We haven't actually tried to get data on that last one.)

Men, it is virtually YOUR DUTY as a husband or father to go lie in a hammock. RIGHT NOW!

Here's how to make hammock-time a safe and enjoyable means to a longer, happier life, rather than the painful, embarrassing Funniest-Home-Videos experience it has the potential to become.

1. Find two stout trees in a quiet location that are 12 feet apart and each at least 8 inches in diameter. I strongly advise against hammocks slung on a metal frame, between posts of a patio, or on hooks screwed to a wall or ceiling. No hook, eye bolt or screw from a hardware store will do the job, and 2x4s or even 4x4s are not suitable. You need trees.

If the trees are too close together, your bum will drag on the ground. If they are too far apart, your bum will drag on the ground. Weird, isn't it? It's paradoxes like that which motivated me to study physics and mathematics in the first place. The really important questions in life.

2. Get two pieces of strong rope, half inch diameter give or take, about 5 feet long, but long enough to wrap around your trees three times with a foot or two left over. Tape and melt the ends to prevent fraying (if natural fiber, tape or lash the ends and apply glue). I like to wrap the rope in tape at the cut before I cut it, to forestall any unraveling.

3. One end of the rope attaches to the loop on the end of your Hammock as shown. Pass the end through the loop, behind and around the hammock cord, and then under itself. Do not make a more complicated knot than this, because a) it will not hold any better, b) it will be more stressful on you and on the rope. The secret to hanging in there for the long haul (physically and metaphorically) is to manage stress and keep things simple.

Second pass: goes under first pass.

4. The other end of each rope is wrapped around a tree at about head-height like this. The second pass goes under the first, on the side of the tree facing directly away from the other tree. The third pass makes a loop which is put under the second pass as shown. Why a loop? When it starts raining you can pull this end of the rope and have your hammock stowed away in seconds flat. Again, don't try to make the knot more complicated. If done correctly, the rope will break long before this knot ever lets go. The bark of the tree provides friction against the rope, so don't attempt this on metal poles, smooth timber posts, or on anything other than a natural tree, or with anything other than twisted multi-strand rope.

Third pass: loop held by second pass.

5. See that the hammock hangs approximately as shown (below). If it hangs too slack, it will be uncomfortable. If it doesn't hang enough, you could break the ropes and end up with a bruise on your backside and your ego.

A Catenary.

6. Lie diagonally across the hammock, not lengthwise. Hammocks are more stable this way, and you will not flip over and fall flat on your face to the utter glee and amusement of anyone who happens to be videoing you on their cell phone.

An empty hammock forms a geometric shape called a Catenary. It is the solution to an elliptical integral equation which has no simple algebraic form. It is one of Nature's most beautiful shapes, in my opinion. Interestingly (well, to me anyway) it is also the shape assumed by a thin, flexible elastic object, such as the blade of a saw, when the ends are pushed towards one another.

When a typical 200 pound man sits in the middle of a hammock, how much tension is on each rope? Would you say one hundred pounds, which would be the total weight shared evenly by the two ropes? No! This is why many hammocks fail. The rope tension is actually much higher than that. If the trees are 12 feet apart and the total hammock length is 15 feet, then the rope tension is 167 pounds. If you shorten the hammock by 1 foot, the tension increases to 194 pounds. Taking another foot off makes it 260 pounds. I'll leave the details of the vector geometry for the reader to do as an exercise.

As the hammock is shortened so that it doesn't hang down at all, the force theoretically approaches infinity. But long before that happens, the trees lean inwards to reduce the tension, or the rope stretches slightly, or something breaks. Again, do not use metal hooks, screws, bolts, hangers, eyes, or anything from a hardware store other than good, honest rope and two solid trees in a quiet location. If these steps are followed to the letter, I personally guarantee you total relaxation, longer life, better health and significantly fewer incidents of public humiliation. Or your money back.

What Is Secret Men's Business?

2011-09-07T16:01:00.000+08:00

Observant readers have noticed that some of the post labels on AussieShed.com include a cryptic reference to "Secret Men's Business." Many Australians have at least a functional understanding of this concept, because it is an Aboriginal invention, and possibly their greatest contribution to the world (after the Stick, of course, second most useful thing ever.)

In an unbelievably harsh landscape such as Australia, in which survival is not at all certain, what is there to aspire to? To posses? Conquer? What is there to attain? There is one thing. And it is the only thing worth having whether you are alone in the middle of a burning red desert or on the throne of an empire surrounded by subjects. There is mastery over your own self.

Secret Men's Business is a general category of things that men do only amongst themselves or entirely alone, and includes sacred initiatory rites or rites of passage, rituals of atonement, preparation for battle or marriage (surprisingly similar), grieving, renewal, investiture of authority, and prayer. It is not that women can't do these things, the point is that these things sometimes need to be done separately. Women have their own "secret women's business," events which men are forbidden from witnessing on pain of summary death . Women post their guards with spears and orders to kill on sight any male that approaches, no matter who or why, strangers, husbands, boyfriends or children alike. It is strictly enforced, far more so than secret men's business.

"But how is it secret if you're telling us all about it?" Good point, and the answer is that "secret" doesn't refer to the general content, but only to the conditions. Certain things have to be done alone or only in the company of men in specially designated places, even though everyone knows exactly what is being done. And this is for the good of all.

One of the results of this arrangement is that spouses do not get the mistaken idea that they own each other like property, and that they get to be involved in every aspect of their partner's life. I know western women who think they are entitled to know every detail of everything their husbands do every minute of every day, and if possible to be directly involved in it if not actually in charge of it. I suppose their greatest fear is infidelity, but ironically they are doing everything necessary to ensure that it happens. Eventually.

When men and women openly embrace and respect Secret Men's Business, there is greater trust, respect and understanding in a relationship. If a man is faithful to his wife, it's because he chooses to be, and that should mean far more to a woman than enforced fidelity. He is to be far more respected than if he never had the opportunity to stray.

But this goes far beyond western society's mad, blind obsession with fidelity in the midst of almost universal infidelity. As essential as it is for a happy life, it's only the warm-up lap of the Indianapolis 500. The main event to which so many people never gravitate is the growth and development individuals experience as a result of their circumstances, and in particular, as a result of their relationship with a spouse or partner. As the Aboriginals discovered over countless generations, a man's development into an Elder, a wise, trusted, powerful and benevolent leader upon which the survival of his family depends, is a spiritual quest undertaken on two parallel tracks. First, it is done quietly, privately, in secret and under the guidance of experienced and accomplished men of immense spiritual stature. Second, a man must be married, live in the world and have sons to finally understand. Is this for everyone? No. Some men will choose not to become an Elder and go a different way.

When families, clans, businesses, churches or nations fail to develop their boys into men of leadership quality, they eventually cease to be.

But when we say to our sons and to our men, as in this initiation rite recorded in ancient Bedouin scripture, "arise from the dust, my sons, and be men, and be determined in one mind and in one heart," then almost anything is possible. Boys will not be swept up in gangs, drugs, and violence, but instead will prepare for their future with a will. Men will not be defeated and ruined by depression, addiction and suicide. Instead, men's lives will be meaningful, purposeful and fulfilling. Communities and families will be strong in the face of the unfathomable challenges to come.

Men, be "united in all things, that ye may not come down into captivity. Awake, my sons; put on your armor. Shake off the chains with which ye are bound, arise from the dust and come forth out of obscurity."

Guys, do you have a place you can go to do your Secret Men's Business? Here is one place, for a start.

A church or temple is also an excellent place for men, and you don't have to be a Ned Flanders, a God-Botherer, or some kind of religious zealot, either. Although I'm not Catholic, I've had many great experiences at the Benedictine monastery at New Norcia in Western Australia. Taking an evening meal in the male-only Rectory in the Benedictine way of total silence is a wonderful experience. It is the most dignified, respectful, self-respecting, calming, meaningful and affirming way to eat that I have ever experienced. Up until that point in my life, mealtimes were demeaning, accusatory, belittling, and inflammatory exercises in male denigration. Had I not usually been responsible for cooking the meal, I might have declined any invitations entirely.

In our society, fathers have lost their authority and the respect of children and spouses alike, and this much to the detriment of everyone. It is not necessary to equate patriarchal authority with subjugation or abuse, nor is it useful to uproot all tradition just for the sake of a few occasions when it didn't suit. We teach those around us exactly how we are willing to be treated. Men who live a life of respect for themselves and reverence for their Secret Men's Business, whatever it may be, will be treated with respect, and will be revered when they are old. Those doing the respecting of their husbands and fathers will experience the benefits of more security, stability, protection, and comfort in a very uncertain world.

Taking Down an Impossible Tree. With Science.

2011-09-07T11:38:00.005+08:00

A large eucalypt tree in the general category referred to as a "White Gum," but probably a kind of Wandoo was overhanging the Shed and dropping its leaves onto the roof, contaminating the rainwater that I depend on. It can be seen in this picture, in the upper right-hand corner. Because the tree was overhanging the shed and threatening to smash it when cut down, Geoff offered to help out with his truck and a rope to pull on it. But when he came to inspect the tree more closely, he turned right around and said, "Can't do it. Leaning too far over. It'll drag my truck right along the ground and smash your shed anyway." So I had to figure out another way. Did I mention the tree was over 60 feet tall?

"If only I had a 1-inch steel cable, roughly 200 feet long," I said to no one in particular. "Like the kind that mores ships to a dock. If I had something like that I reckon I could sort this tree with no trouble at all." A few weeks later I was down at the back of the block fossicking around in the junk that the previous owner had left. Isn't fossicking a great word? It's Australian for "rummaging." I was out fossicking around, and you'll never credit what I came up with. A 1-inch steel cable roughly 200 feet long. Coiled up inside an old oil drum.

To quote the immortal Dave Barry, I am NOT making this up!

Anchoring the cable

I dragged it out and made a loop in one end. I tied a light line to a heavy stick and managed to throw it over a large branch of the tree. The line was used it to hoist over a stout rope. I used the rope to carry up the very heavy steel cable and slip-knotted it around the tree. The other end of the cable was anchored to the base of another large tree some 100 feet away in the direction away from the Shed, and away from the lean of the tree.

One problem: a large branch of another tree was in the way of the cable, so it had to come off. If Funniest Home Videos teaches us nothing else, it is that guys on ladders with chainsaws will always come to grief. That, and no one has ever approached a trampoline without injuring themselves and then being sniffed by a dog. Also, piñatas are to be avoided AT ALL COSTS, unless you are wearing a cup. The reason a guy will always fall off the ladder when he cuts a large branch off a tree is simple physics. What's holding up the branch? The tree, of course. How is it doing it? By applying stress through the trunk of the tree. What happens when that stress is suddenly removed? Lots happens!

Click to see larger image.

I knew the tree would recoil violently when a branch weighing several hundred pounds was suddenly no longer attached to it, so I lashed the ladder tightly to the tree. I also planted a cement base for the ladder to rest on (visible in photo). And when I made the cut, I didn't allow the branch to gradually swing down like a pendulum and knock me off the ladder; I went right through the branch as fast as the chainsaw would take me. The branch recoiled like a diving board, vibrating on its primary mode in free-fall and fell nearly straight down. Still, the cut end of the branch took out a large chunk of bark from the trunk of the tree (visible in photo as a yellowish patch halfway up the trunk), narrowly missing the ladder I was on. As soon as the cut was complete, I clapped on to the tree and held on tight. The tree shook violently, but I stayed with it and, importantly, I did not loose the ladder. (The photo shows a long-handled shovel for scale, the cable visible going overhead, and the cut branch on the ground ready for drying. On the far right side is the tree I am attempting to bring down, with a mark where the fell cut would be made.)

Later I acquired a second-hand 3-ton chain hoist (ex-rental) and used it to take the slack out of the cable. Then after taking one last look around, I was satisfied that I had taken every precaution. The tree, according to my calculations, would fall on a line perpendicular to the cable and about 30 degrees away from the Shed, missing it with all of its branches. Every angle was correct. My position would also be perfectly safe. I fired up the chain saw.

The cable slip-knotted over a fork in the tree that was originally 30 feet off the ground.
The rope used to hoist up the cable is still attached.

After cutting about two thirds through the trunk, I heard a loud pop. The taut cable dropped about 6 inches and the entire tree gave a slight shiver. A shudder. I set down the chain saw and ran to where the cable was anchored. I hauled on the chain hoist and tensioned the cable up again, but the tree held fast. After waiting to see if anything would happen, I cautiously resumed chain-sawing through the trunk in a cut that was considerably more open than before. All was going to plan.

After chewing through a bit more of the 14 inch diameter trunk, the tree popped again, gave a shiver, and seemed to go slack. It came over all lazy and swayed there as though it were about to faint. That distinctly lower-frequency motion indicated to the vibrational engineer in me that the tree had almost no stiff support any longer, and was simply balancing in space. I dropped the chain saw once more and ran back to the hoist. I didn't have to haul on it very much before the tree began a long, slow-motion tilt, picking up speed, and rushing faster and faster towards the ground. It made an almighty CRUNCH!, broke into several large pieces, and then lay still.

Exactly in the spot I had planned for it to be. Nothing damaged, no injuries, no errors.

With a bit of engineering and physics, the impossible becomes a simple one-man job.

A Shed Down Under

The Story of Jiko Giman, an Artist who Was Not Similar in Every Way to Everyday People.

A Horrid Thing To Say

See The Real Australia

In The Beginning . . .

Followup: How Clever Are You?

Finally - Something Useful About Scorpions

Are You Your Brain?

Fighting for Survival

Words Cannot Describe

Do You Need Brains to Have Faith?

Another Amazing Date on the Calendar

Here Come Those Blues Again

Educating Australia's Children. With Slogans!

Why Do Things Sometimes Happen?

I Have a Theory!

The Blind Labelmaker

Science v Religion, Round Two

The Good Life

Christmas In Australia

The Story of Newtonmas

Is The Mechanical Age Finished?

One Little Word That Can Change Your Life

Just An Ordinary, Boring Weekend in Oz

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

How Clever Are You?

More Secret Men's Business

Stupid Science, Stupid Religion

Ramblin' on my Mind

Too Much Stuff

Theory of Awesomeness

Taboo #1: Politics.

Taboo #2: Religion.

A Very Auspicious Day - November 8

An Unforgettable Incident, which I had somehow forgotten about.

Making Vegetables Edible Again

How I Injured Myself

When Lizards Attack

Fathers and Sons at War

Feelin' Blue

Keeping it Clean

New, Corrected Map of Australia

More Questions Than Answers

The Best Australian Stuff is . . . Chinese?

Time Stands Still

Kookaburra

It's a Small World

Exactly how big IS this place?

That Good Ol' Southern Cooking. (Southern Hemisphere, that is.)

RedBack Where I Belong

Driving In Oz

I Remain Unconcerned

More Bugs Than You Can Shake a Stick At.

How To Lie in a Hammock

What Is Secret Men's Business?

Taking Down an Impossible Tree. With Science.