Winston Churchill once said that democracy was the worst form of government apart from all of the other ones. Never has such a cynical statement been more accurate.
The sheer number of people I talk to who not only don't care about politics but actively attempt to sabotage the democratic process by donkey voting is astounding.I should clarify at this point the dim view I take of donkey voting - the type of voting where you intentionally choose to not choose a poltical party; and instead pick the first name on the list or perhaps they remember the neat hair on one of the politicians and votes for them.
Australian laws states that all citizens must vote; the purpose being to encourage involvement in the democractic process.
Bogus.
Why must we involve these troglodytes in the process when they care so little as to know nothing about their government? Why is it necessary for us to require every uninformed idiot with a driver's licence to be involved? We have millions of voters who dilute the outcome so greatly as to make the winner have no mandate for governing; in other words, the new Prime Minister has no imperative to do anything except gear up for the following election. We have no poltical direction and nothing will ever reform or evolve.
We should have an experiment for several decades - remove the necessity for people to vote, and then institute a requirement for understanding the politics before you can vote. A failing grade in Politics 101 will make you ineligible to vote in the next election.
There is a form of government known as an Oligarchy - the rule of the elite. If only those who understand the issues and have opinions on them can participate, the quality of the democracy will dramatically improve.
It's our fault that the state of politics is so poor - much like the media. It reflects what the public wants, not what it needs or deserves. Perhaps after having it taken away for a time, the people will come to value the right to vote once again.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Cinema seating
I fear that the theatre's sojourn into online convenience has had some unintended consequences.
Though it's been around for a while, you can book your specific seats online ahead of time so as to reserve the best spots; the idea being that you can avoid being stuck at the front row when you see the latest Harry Potter.
Problem is that it's being used by a very different sort of cinema-goer, namely, the seat Nazis. These are the dickheads who will tell you "hey that's my seat! See! My ticket says J-10 and you are in J-10!"
For many years I have gone to the cinema and when I arrive inside, I look around for a seat to my taste that is unoccupied and then avail myself of it. If there wasn't enough seats for my friends, or strangers required more, I'd happily move over or similar so that we may coexist in peace and love.
Nowadays I will be sitting in an empty cinema when one of these jerks will ask me to move out of his seat. I am completely bumfuzzled as to why they can't sit up or down a seat, or next to me. Why are all these people so childish and unable to communicate or simply be reasonable?
I think the online seat allotments is drawing in the library computer-booking people - the asshats who demand their 10:15 computer at spot 2A rather than just waiting in line.
Why not wait in line? Why not trust in the fairness and sanguinity of your fellow man? Must I really jab my movie drink straw through your right eye socket in frustration?
Though it's been around for a while, you can book your specific seats online ahead of time so as to reserve the best spots; the idea being that you can avoid being stuck at the front row when you see the latest Harry Potter.
Problem is that it's being used by a very different sort of cinema-goer, namely, the seat Nazis. These are the dickheads who will tell you "hey that's my seat! See! My ticket says J-10 and you are in J-10!"
For many years I have gone to the cinema and when I arrive inside, I look around for a seat to my taste that is unoccupied and then avail myself of it. If there wasn't enough seats for my friends, or strangers required more, I'd happily move over or similar so that we may coexist in peace and love.
Nowadays I will be sitting in an empty cinema when one of these jerks will ask me to move out of his seat. I am completely bumfuzzled as to why they can't sit up or down a seat, or next to me. Why are all these people so childish and unable to communicate or simply be reasonable?
I think the online seat allotments is drawing in the library computer-booking people - the asshats who demand their 10:15 computer at spot 2A rather than just waiting in line.
Why not wait in line? Why not trust in the fairness and sanguinity of your fellow man? Must I really jab my movie drink straw through your right eye socket in frustration?
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Travel: Nimbin
My recent visit to Nimbin left me highly unsettled - if I'd stayed the night there I have no doubt it would have ended much lik a Lovecraftian nightmare.
Nimbin is an aberrence in space in time as it links the free-spirited sixties together with a dystopian parallel future wherein something has terribly corrupted the citizenry and their purpose.
After driving for several hours inland from the upper New South Wales coastline, you come across the town without any real warning. The town itself has little more than a few token stores filled with drug paraphenalia and marijuana-themed novelties. This is a little dirtball that celebrates its proud past of radicalism and protest. The murals, graffiti and stores are all colourfully decorated and no doubt are spectacular viewed while under the influence.
The sense of anxiousness you develop isn't because of the town's isolation or it's single-minded devotion to an incredibly pidgeonholed way of life; what makes you uneasy is the people.
There are two types of people there - the aging hipsters, and their descendents.
The first type are people who undoubtedly smoked entire bushels of finest farm-fresh wacky-tobacky while singing their songs of love and peace. They hang around the town like living attractions to personally demonstrate the virtues of a life free of material wealth and attunment with nature. Personally I loved these folks - they are friendly, talkative and generous, if a little burnt out. They'll tell you stories of life as a protester, escapades from police and hairy situations they faced.
The real issue is the offspring of these people. Unlike their parents, these people are bitter, angry and seemingly ill-educated. Most of them appear to have been raised and taught in this place but have little understanding of what their parents refused to fight for. Drawn to your tourist-like appearance, you will be accosted at least twice per hour by young natives who will attempt to vend their illegal wares to you. They speak gruffly and underhandedly, and refuse to be dissuaded by even the most fervent rejections of their offers.
Every so often a police patrol will mosey on throughto deter the sale of drugs and when they do, the place becomes a ghost town - you wouldn't be able to tell that anyone lives there for their proficiency at hiding and the lack of upkeep on the storefronts.
There is one thing there most definitely worth visiting however - the museum of marijuana. It depicts the brief history of Nimbin and the involvement of the drug in its past. The museum itself is a marvelous achievement for the citizens as it hosts some truly fascinating artwork - paintings, sculptures, murals and poetry.
Just try not to make eye contact with the "salesman" hiding in the dark corners of the room. He'll try to sell you something that you really don't want to buy.
Nimbin is an aberrence in space in time as it links the free-spirited sixties together with a dystopian parallel future wherein something has terribly corrupted the citizenry and their purpose.
After driving for several hours inland from the upper New South Wales coastline, you come across the town without any real warning. The town itself has little more than a few token stores filled with drug paraphenalia and marijuana-themed novelties. This is a little dirtball that celebrates its proud past of radicalism and protest. The murals, graffiti and stores are all colourfully decorated and no doubt are spectacular viewed while under the influence.
The sense of anxiousness you develop isn't because of the town's isolation or it's single-minded devotion to an incredibly pidgeonholed way of life; what makes you uneasy is the people.
There are two types of people there - the aging hipsters, and their descendents.
The first type are people who undoubtedly smoked entire bushels of finest farm-fresh wacky-tobacky while singing their songs of love and peace. They hang around the town like living attractions to personally demonstrate the virtues of a life free of material wealth and attunment with nature. Personally I loved these folks - they are friendly, talkative and generous, if a little burnt out. They'll tell you stories of life as a protester, escapades from police and hairy situations they faced.
The real issue is the offspring of these people. Unlike their parents, these people are bitter, angry and seemingly ill-educated. Most of them appear to have been raised and taught in this place but have little understanding of what their parents refused to fight for. Drawn to your tourist-like appearance, you will be accosted at least twice per hour by young natives who will attempt to vend their illegal wares to you. They speak gruffly and underhandedly, and refuse to be dissuaded by even the most fervent rejections of their offers.
Every so often a police patrol will mosey on throughto deter the sale of drugs and when they do, the place becomes a ghost town - you wouldn't be able to tell that anyone lives there for their proficiency at hiding and the lack of upkeep on the storefronts.
There is one thing there most definitely worth visiting however - the museum of marijuana. It depicts the brief history of Nimbin and the involvement of the drug in its past. The museum itself is a marvelous achievement for the citizens as it hosts some truly fascinating artwork - paintings, sculptures, murals and poetry.
Just try not to make eye contact with the "salesman" hiding in the dark corners of the room. He'll try to sell you something that you really don't want to buy.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
You don't understand - what would you know?
I watch a lot of anime and have had frequent interactions with Asians over the course of my life, and one particular sentiment that is expressed by this ethnic group is "you don't understand!", or "what would you know?" At first I thought this was a normal expression of frustration but the more I consider it the more I think this is wrong.
The reason I'm starting to think I was wrong about this is the fact that it is NEVER followed by a true declaration of intentions, feelings or thoughts. They never deign to express themselves after saying this.
Usually it's a second- or third-string character that says this; it's a weak comeback to a brutally honest accusation. "What would you know about it?" isn't even a denial - it's a fearful response to the blinding face of truth. Only minor characters use this rhetorical question as any main character always knows where they stand - they have no need for such an underwhelming rejoinder. Even the primary antagonists will never say this - they have resolve and (typically) an evil determination. The hero, when faced with a harshness will either proudly declare their belief, or they will be stunned into catharsis.
A teacher, a leader, the determined, the proud - these are all people who never say "you don't understand". In Western culture it tends to be used only by whiny teenagers stricken by angst over adolescence.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Elevator rage
I seem to spend a lot of time railing against Asians. It's not racist though as I don't think they're less than any other people, merely that I have more interactions with them that annoy me.
Today's case of fury has to do with the use of elevators.
Imagine you have a lift packed to the brim with people like a tin of dolphin-infused tuna. You all go to the same floor, and yet no one can get out. Why? Because there are a gaggle of Asian girls attempting to bully their way into the elevator with little regard to anyone inside.
I have little regard for etiquette or rules of conduct when it comes to many things. But this infraction isn't even a problem of courtesy or politeness - it's just common sense. How is anyone going to get out if you are all blocking the way? You aren't going to get to your floor any faster by pushing your way through the crowd - in fact, it's going to take twice as long.
Sometimes I wish the elevator would mince legs and arms of people unable to get out of the way in time like an amateur production of SAW. Maybe then these retards would respect the law of physics which states that two objects cannot inhabit the same place in time and space.
I do my best to avenge these offences against common sense by leaving disturbing fragrances upon my departure from the lift. Revenge is a dish best served pungent.
Today's case of fury has to do with the use of elevators.
Imagine you have a lift packed to the brim with people like a tin of dolphin-infused tuna. You all go to the same floor, and yet no one can get out. Why? Because there are a gaggle of Asian girls attempting to bully their way into the elevator with little regard to anyone inside.
I have little regard for etiquette or rules of conduct when it comes to many things. But this infraction isn't even a problem of courtesy or politeness - it's just common sense. How is anyone going to get out if you are all blocking the way? You aren't going to get to your floor any faster by pushing your way through the crowd - in fact, it's going to take twice as long.
Sometimes I wish the elevator would mince legs and arms of people unable to get out of the way in time like an amateur production of SAW. Maybe then these retards would respect the law of physics which states that two objects cannot inhabit the same place in time and space.
I do my best to avenge these offences against common sense by leaving disturbing fragrances upon my departure from the lift. Revenge is a dish best served pungent.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Game Review: PROTOTYPE
It's been a few days since my last post seeing as how most of my time is spent either writing my thesis or recovering from said writing. Yes, I'm a nancy. It's strenuous.
In any case I've been playing PROTOTYPE to alleviate my stress, and in this regard, it is one of the better games for the task.
The game follows an amnesiac hoodie-wearer named Alex Mercer, a guy in his late twenties who is attempting to find out why is body can transform into an arsenal picked straight of the dungeons-and-dragons guidebook - a blade, a mace, super strength, a whip and a shield. He goes about the city and instead of asking people questions, or subjecting government lackeys to advanced interrogation techniques like waterboarding, he simply "absorbs" them What does this mean? It means whenever he punches a dude, he punches a hole straight through them and turns them into an easily digestible serving of raspberry pudding.
He eventually finds out who he is and who the big bad is (Surprise! It's the government! Spoiler alert!) but by this stage the entire sandbox of New York city has been turned into a zombie apocalypse scenario. Any semblance of moral choice systems goes out the window faster than my last malfunctioning Wii-mote. There's no need to agonize over the decision whether to absorb hapless citizens for health restoration when they're all all the Alex Mercer face-eating diet.
The real fun of this game is being able to jump from building to building, falling from a magnificent height and crushing some random passerby like a human-sized cockroach. Bodysurfing is especially enjoyably viseral as you ride their newly corpsified carcass into freshly squeezed pavement juice.
The gameplay mechanics are adequate - at times the controls are sluggish to respond, especially in some of the more complicated fight combos. I've never seen a game with a more unnecessary martial arts mechanic when you can simply extend your arm like Mr Fantastic and rip out the other guy's ovaries. Good times...
I do have one complaint about this game - the player character is about as interesting and compelling as a Chinese exchange student at an accounting party. The story isn't bad and I thought the twist at the end was fairly unexpected - worthy of being in an early Shyamalan film.
You may think that this sort of violent indulgence is bad for the soul but I find it enormously cathartic; at the very least it prevents me from throttling that guy in the post-grad study room with chronic flatulence.
In any case I've been playing PROTOTYPE to alleviate my stress, and in this regard, it is one of the better games for the task.
The game follows an amnesiac hoodie-wearer named Alex Mercer, a guy in his late twenties who is attempting to find out why is body can transform into an arsenal picked straight of the dungeons-and-dragons guidebook - a blade, a mace, super strength, a whip and a shield. He goes about the city and instead of asking people questions, or subjecting government lackeys to advanced interrogation techniques like waterboarding, he simply "absorbs" them What does this mean? It means whenever he punches a dude, he punches a hole straight through them and turns them into an easily digestible serving of raspberry pudding.
He eventually finds out who he is and who the big bad is (Surprise! It's the government! Spoiler alert!) but by this stage the entire sandbox of New York city has been turned into a zombie apocalypse scenario. Any semblance of moral choice systems goes out the window faster than my last malfunctioning Wii-mote. There's no need to agonize over the decision whether to absorb hapless citizens for health restoration when they're all all the Alex Mercer face-eating diet.
The real fun of this game is being able to jump from building to building, falling from a magnificent height and crushing some random passerby like a human-sized cockroach. Bodysurfing is especially enjoyably viseral as you ride their newly corpsified carcass into freshly squeezed pavement juice.
The gameplay mechanics are adequate - at times the controls are sluggish to respond, especially in some of the more complicated fight combos. I've never seen a game with a more unnecessary martial arts mechanic when you can simply extend your arm like Mr Fantastic and rip out the other guy's ovaries. Good times...
I do have one complaint about this game - the player character is about as interesting and compelling as a Chinese exchange student at an accounting party. The story isn't bad and I thought the twist at the end was fairly unexpected - worthy of being in an early Shyamalan film.
You may think that this sort of violent indulgence is bad for the soul but I find it enormously cathartic; at the very least it prevents me from throttling that guy in the post-grad study room with chronic flatulence.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Man, made in the likeness of God
In the bible, it states that God made man in His likeness. The literalists take this to mean that God is bipedal, upright, male, and with excessive growths of hair in unnecessary places. Liberal interpretations take the likeness to mean something more abstract; moral capacity, choice, freewill. Man is different to animals because we can make moral decisions, and distinguish right from wrong.
It could of course be argued that man did not have this capacity until he ate from the tree of knowledge, but this isn't strictly speaking true. God gave Adam and Eve free run of the Garden of Eden and gave them but one command, to not partake of that one tree's fruit. However, if he gave them a command and they were able to do otherwise, they already had the capacity for choice and there would be no need to test their obedience. So when God made man in His likeness, the more generally accepted interpretation is that we are talking about God giving man choice.
I don't think this is correct however. If the likeness is choice, then it means that God has a choice. If God has a choice, it means that he has a capacity for both good and evil; and it is inconceivable for God to have evil maxims.
What does this mean for God? Either he can be evil, or he has no choice at all; a deity completely devoid of freewill. He would be closer to Dr. Manhattan than he would be to Zeus..
It could be said that while all beings have a capacity for evil, God would never or could never make an evil decision. If He would never, well, He would have to know this. And if this is known, he could not do otherwise, meaning he does not have free will. If he did otherwise, like I suspect he did with the whole Job incident, and that's just a dick move. If he could not do otherwise, he has no choice, and we have a god who does things not from moral decision making. Who knows why then? Like a manufacting machine throwing out product after product without rhyme nor reason.
As a mild aside, I would like to make mention of the tale of Prometheus. Most people know that he stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, and was punished by being tied to a rock where the crows would devour his entrails every day. He was a titan, so they grew back, but still it had to suck.
But the story is a little different.Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus were charged by the gods to populate the world; Prometheus' task was to create man. In order to demonstrate his craftsmanship, when he made man, he gave them TWO advantages designed to give them dominion over the earth. One was sacred fire, stolen from Mount Olympus, and the other was upright form in the image of the gods.
It seems unnecessary for me to point out that this story seems to have been plagarised by the Christians to make their creation story (I'll do it anyway though.) But come on! We get way cooler stuff from the Ancient Greek story than the Christian one. We only ever get fire and such from the Christian God when he gets pissed off and decides to smite some guys or to talk through bushes.
It could of course be argued that man did not have this capacity until he ate from the tree of knowledge, but this isn't strictly speaking true. God gave Adam and Eve free run of the Garden of Eden and gave them but one command, to not partake of that one tree's fruit. However, if he gave them a command and they were able to do otherwise, they already had the capacity for choice and there would be no need to test their obedience. So when God made man in His likeness, the more generally accepted interpretation is that we are talking about God giving man choice.
I don't think this is correct however. If the likeness is choice, then it means that God has a choice. If God has a choice, it means that he has a capacity for both good and evil; and it is inconceivable for God to have evil maxims.
What does this mean for God? Either he can be evil, or he has no choice at all; a deity completely devoid of freewill. He would be closer to Dr. Manhattan than he would be to Zeus..
It could be said that while all beings have a capacity for evil, God would never or could never make an evil decision. If He would never, well, He would have to know this. And if this is known, he could not do otherwise, meaning he does not have free will. If he did otherwise, like I suspect he did with the whole Job incident, and that's just a dick move. If he could not do otherwise, he has no choice, and we have a god who does things not from moral decision making. Who knows why then? Like a manufacting machine throwing out product after product without rhyme nor reason.
As a mild aside, I would like to make mention of the tale of Prometheus. Most people know that he stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, and was punished by being tied to a rock where the crows would devour his entrails every day. He was a titan, so they grew back, but still it had to suck.
But the story is a little different.Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus were charged by the gods to populate the world; Prometheus' task was to create man. In order to demonstrate his craftsmanship, when he made man, he gave them TWO advantages designed to give them dominion over the earth. One was sacred fire, stolen from Mount Olympus, and the other was upright form in the image of the gods.
It seems unnecessary for me to point out that this story seems to have been plagarised by the Christians to make their creation story (I'll do it anyway though.) But come on! We get way cooler stuff from the Ancient Greek story than the Christian one. We only ever get fire and such from the Christian God when he gets pissed off and decides to smite some guys or to talk through bushes.
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