Anarchy in the UK: Part 1: Automobiles, Trains, and Planes

Ever since I was a wee one, and caught a bout of Anglophilia at an early age, I have wanted to visit England. For many years, a variety of circumstances have thwarted my attempts at journeying across the pond—first a lack of cross-pond-journeying funds, and then a crippling fear of flying. Both issues having been resolved (more or less), I was finally able to head overseas last week, not only to visit London for the first time ever, but also to see a couple of my oldest and dearest friends, expatriate Americans who moved to London in 1999.

And I finally realized what I had been missing all these years—London is a great city! I loved it! Sure, the weather is really depressing, which could explain why there is an average of three pubs for every person, but that aside, I felt more at home there than in any American city I had ever visited...or even lived in.

The voyage itself was a combination of planes, trains, and automobiles. I left Saratoga at 10:30 a.m. on Friday to drive to the Albany-Rensselaer train station, to catch a noon train to Penn Station. (Lead us not into Penn Station...) This would give me four hours to make a 6:30 p.m. flight out of Newark. Too much time, I originally thought, but the only other option would give me two hours’ lead time—but knowing Amtrak as I do, I opted for the biggest time gap I could.
And, as it turned out, it was the right decision. For some reason (the weather was perfect), all the trains were late out of Albany, and the noon train didn’t leave until about 12:45, and then crept down the track. A girl on a tricycle on an adjacent road was moving faster than the train. I should have asked her for a ride.

Fortunately, I got in about 3:30 and caught a New Jersey Transit train to Newark Airport. The most time-consuming part was finding the British Airways realm, which was unlabeled, and two different airport workers told me two different things. Finally, I found it in a sub-basement, with a very lengthy and sluggish moving line for check in. I had time, so I accepted the reality and waited my turn.

Security was about what it had been on the Atlanta trip, although three people examined my passport—and it was only later waiting at the gate that I discovered the legend that said “Passport not valid until signed” which I had neglected to heed. No one caught that; gotta love that security.

The flight was a tad late taking off, as there were massive thunderstorms moving through Newark. But, being a veteran of Amtrak, 45 minutes late is nothing.

Anyway, the flight to Heathrow was actually quite pleasant, despite the fact that I was wedged into a middle seat (the flight was completely full). British Airways is a rather nice airline—friendly, polite flight crews, captains who keep everyone apprised of what is going on, the food was quite good, and there was no extra charge for beer, which is always a plus in my book.

I landed about 7:30 Saturday morning, London time, after having slept only fitfully on the plane. For some reason, our arrival took the airport staff completely by surprise (heck, it’s not like a planeload of people dropped in unannounced; I had known about the flight since I bought tickets back in June) and they had no gate available, so we parked elsewhere and took a bus to the terminal.

Passport Control took about 45 minutes to get through, as many many people were arriving. Which I guess worked out, because by the time I was done with that the baggage had all been unloaded and my suitcase was awaiting me.

I found an American Express kiosk and exchanged my low-value Bush Bucks for British pounds--$100 became £44. Ugh.

Anyway, as I was humming the line from a Monty Python song, “I’m so worried about the baggage retrieval system they have at Heathrow,” my friend Steven met me outside the gate and was nice enough to buy me some coffee at a Starbucks (god, they’re everywhere). We then took the scenic route—there being no other route, really—from Heathrow to his house in the London borough of Hackney (causing me to recall the Robyn Hitchcock lyric, from “Point it at Gran,” “When Princess Anne’s 82 and living in a one-room flat in Hackney...”). There, his wife Amy was waiting with their two children—three-year-old Godwin and one-year-old Sibella. Godwin and I bonded almost immediately.

That afternoon, we went down to Borough Market south of the River Thames to do some shopping. Basically, Borough Market is an immense (and immensely crowded) farmer’s market, with stalls of fresh vegetables, meats (they even offer butchery workshops—the Jack the Ripper jokes were fairly obvious, I suppose), and, to my delight, an immense variety of beers and ales. We stopped for lunch and I got some authentic (and very good) British fish and chips.

The next day (Sunday), I was happily over my jet lag, and we bundled up the kiddies and headed out to the British Museum which, it being Sunday, was very crowded, but not unbearably so, except around the mummies and the Rosetta Stone. Amy, herself being a museum curator with a photographic memory, was better to have along than a proper tour guide, and she explained many many things, especially the story of the discovery and deciphering of the Rosetta Stone.

The Rosetta Stone was discovered in 1799 in the Nile Delta in a village called Rashid (called “Rosetta” by Europeans). It was found by members of the Napoleonic expedition to Egypt—say what you will about Napoleon, but he was dedicated to science and history and made it a point to investigate scientifically those regions he planned to conquer. Sporting of him, really. As we all know, the Rosetta Stone bears three sets of inscriptions—one in Greek, one in demotic Egyptian (the “official” written language of ancient Egypt), and one in hieroglyphics. Greek, everyone knew, but the other two...not so much. At the time, Egyptology was a nascent study, and no one knew how to decipher either its demotic language or hieroglyphics (even today, no one is sure how to pronounce “falcon” or “three wavy lines”). Scholars spent years trying to decipher the Rosetta Stone, but it was Jean Francois Champollion who finally did it, identifying certain proper names (like “Ptolemy”) and going from there.

So what does the Rosetta Stone actually say? Basically, it is a copy of a decree commemorating the first anniversary of Ptolemy V’s coronation. Yes, disappointingly, the Rosetta Stone is little more than an ancient press release.

There are many many other cool things in the British Museum; the Mesopotamian relics are interesting, and the Greek and Roman antiquities are especially cool. Amy made mention of one drinking bowl that bore a sort of “surgeon general’s warning” concerning alcoholic overindulgence—inside the cup was an illustration of someone vomiting. I don’t know how effective it was. Phallus worship was big in Greece and Rome and they had one rather elaborate phallus wind chime—and the caption card literally said (I am not making this up) “This chime would be placed in the yard and could be heard tinkling in the wind.” A remarkable antiquity indeed.

There are also the Portland vases, important because it was one of these that inspired John Keats to write “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” However, my repeating of the old joke “What’s a Greek Urn? A buck and a quarter an hour” almost led my hosts to smash a Portland vase over my head.

We grabbed lunch at the British Museum cafe and told Godwin that he could get Mummy Meat. He seemed enthused by this...

Alas, Amy said the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus was very cool, but was closed when we were there (I wonder if you can rent it out for parties?).

The day was drawing to a close, and that night we had Indian take away—excellent!
Steven was kind enough to take Monday and Tuesday off to escort me around. We got a somewhat late-ish start on Monday and took the Underground to the original City of London. The London Underground uses fare cards known as Oyster Cards, so-called because they fold out in a vinyl wallet like a bivalve—gotta love it. (It is also because, with it, the world—or, at the very least, the city—is your oyster.) It was here that I was introduced to the whole “Mind the Gap” business—which is basically a neverending announcement to be careful of the gap between the Tube train and the platform. Incidentally, I am impressed with the Tube; it is logically run, seems fairly reliable (some lines have their problems, I’m told), and is pretty easy to figure out. People tend to be polite and courteous, even at rush hour, and moving about is done in quite an orderly fashion. The stations and trains are very clean and the seats are actually upholstered; vandalism does not appear to be a problem. (These seats would last five seconds in NYC.) Sure, nothing is air conditioned (few things in Britain are, for the simple reason that 99% of the year there is no need for it), but you can open the windows and get a nice breeze.

Anyway, Steven and I had lunch at a very old pub near St. Paul’s called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which I loved, although I did learn one very important lesson: “Light” beer in Britain means “non-alcoholic.” I won’t make that mistake again!

Here is Steven in front of the pub:
The pub was around the corner from Samuel Johnson’s house, which we wandered over to and toured. Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) was a poet, essayist, biographer, lexicographer, and a literary critic. He was also well known for his aphorisms, but one of his lasting claims to fame is that he compiled the very first English dictionary, and they had several copies (reproductions, natch) on display. I was reminded, of course, of the episode of Black Adder the Third, featuring Dr. Johnson and this classic exchange:

Dr. Johnson: Here it is, sir: the very cornerstone of English scholarship. This book, sir, contains every word in our beloved language.
...
Edmund: Every single one, sir?

Dr. Johnson: (confidently) Every single word, sir!

Edmund: (to Prince) Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if I also offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafribularities.

Dr. Johnson: What?

Edmund: 'Contrafribularites', sir? It is a common word down our way...

Dr. Johnson: Damn! (writes in the book)

Edmund: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm anispeptic, frasmotic, even compunctuous to have caused you such pericombobulation.

Dr. Johnson: What? What? WHAT?

Prince George: What are you on about, Blackadder? This is all beginning to sound a bit like dago talk to me.

Edmund: I'm sorry, sir. I merely wished to congratulate the Doctor on not having left out a single word. (J sneers) Shall I fetch the tea, Your Highness?

Prince George: Yes, yes! And get that damned fire up here, will you?

Edmund: Certainly, sir. I shall return interfrastically. (exits) (J writes some more)

And of course, as it turned out, he dictionary omitted the word "sausage."

We're just getting started. To be continued....

I Saw Lon Chaney Walking with the Queen

Also on heavy rotation on the iPod...

Blogito Ergo Somewhere Else

I am off on holiday for a week, jetting over to London to visit some friends, so I shan't be blogging. I'm sure I will be posting a travelog and pix upon my return.

In the meantime, I leave you with...

Midasize It

Good luck getting this to mount on a wall:

LG Electronics presented its 71-inch high-end PDP TV ‘Luxury gold’ whose appearance including TV case, home theater system and set-top box is adorned with 24k gold.

OK...but why? Are they trying to cater to the rather small James Bond villain market?

Digital Imaging

This is interesting. Says National Geographic:

Sharks Have Genes for Fingers and Toes

The basic process for developing fingers and toes in land animals may have existed for more than 500 million years in shark genes, according to a new study.

Researchers identified genetic activity in spotted catsharks embryos that signal the creation of digits.

The discovery pushes back the date of the evolutionary "fin to limb" advance by some 135 million years.

When a gene—essentially a set of instructions—is translated into a trait, such as red hair or an arm, it is said to be expressed.

Scientists have long believed that the gene for digit development was first expressed some 365 million years ago in the earliest tetrapodsthe first vertebrates to walk on land. (Related: "Ancient Fish Fossil May Rewrite Story of Animal Evolution" [October 18, 2006].)

But the new study suggests the finger-and-toe gene was first expressed much earlier, in fish—though not to such an extent that it yielded actual digits.

I wonder if, as Stephen Jay Gould would say, you could rewind the tape of evolution and start over, would sharks today have been able to type? And what would that mean for humanity if they could? I guess sexual predators wouldn't be the only ones you'd have to watch out for in chatrooms....

DWI

That is, Driving While an Idiot.

I drove down to Corning, NY, last weekend and on the way down, I saw something that reached new heights of driver idiocy. Now, readers of this blog (both of you) know that I have little patience for all those Very Important People who yak on their cellphone while driving (because, of course, civilization as we know it will fall apart if that call isn't answered immediately--assuming civilization hasn't fallen apart already), and that the new trend in text messaging while driving is the sign of a complete lack of any kind of mental functioning whatsoever. But this took the cake:

I was on I-88, a hilly, winding interstate, and it was raining. One guy was veering all over the place, and nearly ended up in a ravine, or, at one point, plunging off a cliff. His speed varied from 60 to 80 (I had cruise control on and could gauge his speed(s)). I thought, "must be drunk or on a cellphone." As I passed him, just to get the hell away from him, I looked over and he was writing on his PDA with a stylus...while driving. Wow. What exactly is wrong with people?

Burning Ambition

Via Master Dan Webb, Son of Dr. Joe, a video showing how to install the laser from a DVD burner into a flashlight to create an ersatz phaser, capable of visiting death and destruction on unsuspecting matches and balloons. (It does seem like something Dr. Clayton Forrester would come up with.)

Laser Flashlight Hack! - Click here for more amazing videos

But don't tell the electronics industry. If Sony, Toshiba, or Philips made matches or balloons, this laser would only work with compatible matches and balloons.

Hmm...maybe that's a good way to get people to quit smoking: have Sony (for example) buy Philip Morris. Then certain lighters and matches would only work with certain cigarettes. People would quite out of frustration! It just...might...work... Let's get the Surgeon General on the phone...

Capital Idea!

I like the basic principle of this:

Venice charges rude tourists extra

Tourists who do not want to be ripped off in Venice were advised yesterday to drop their brutish behaviour and try to learn a bit of the local lingo.

A "significant proportion" of the city's bars and restaurants are now operating two or even three price lists: one for tourists, another for locals, and a third for "sympathetic" tourists who make more effort than the usual grunted demands.

Living in a tourist-hell town, I would eagerly support any business that wants to charge boorish and rude tourists extra. Language isn't so much an issue here, but tourists who behave like self-important a******es who think the world owes them a living could certainly pony up a few extra bucks for psychological pain and suffering.

Reel Around the Fountains

For your entertainment, the latest video from NYC's Fountains of Wayne, whose new album Traffic and Weather is excellent.

Never Let 'Em See You Sweat

The "Fact or Fiction" column at Scientific American.com gets in a sweat over antiperspirants:

could the aluminum-based compounds that reduce sweat actually cause Alzheimer's disease and breast cancer?

Probably not, is the conclusion, but I think they would be more likely to cause Mennengitis.

Dem Bones

A member of the venerable Leakey clan found some new fossils that suggest that human evolution was not as clean linear as many have thought (not that anyone serious ever thought that it was). Biologist PZ Myers over at Pharyngula has the details and what they mean:

[O]ne fact seems to be dominating the news about them, and is being consistently misinterpreted: the H[omo] erectus specimen is older than the H. habilis specimen, yet the most common models of human evolution have H. habilis giving rise to H. erectus which in turn was the progenitor of H. sapiens. Even the Nature news summary makes a big issue of this difference[:]

"Anthropologists have tended to see the evolution of Homo species as a linear progression, beginning with H. habilis and passing through H. erectus before ending up with modern humans."
...
These discoveries do not put any seriously held theories in doubt. They do nicely demonstrate that a linear progression is not to be seriously held.

Just as your mother's life most likely substantially overlapped with your own, the persistence of a parental species so that it overlaps in time with its daughter species is not a challenge to evolution at all. That's the case here; the authors certainly do not regard this work as casting any doubt on the evolution of humans at all.

TrES Bien

Astronomers have found another new planet--and it's a big one:

TrES-4 was found by the Trans-atlantic Exoplanet Survey (TrES, pronounced "trace" as in Spanish) — a project using small, automated cameras to electronically monitor thousands of stars in selected patches of sky. Most unexpectedly, TrES-4 turns out to have a diameter 70% larger than Jupiter, even though it has only 84% of Jupiter's mass. That gives it an average density of 0.2 grams per cubic centimeter: a fifth the density of water, and about that of balsa wood.

We probably won't be visiting it any time soon--it's about 1,400 light years away.

For those keeping score, that comes to 249 extrasolar planets found thus far.

Remember the Future

Want to know how far away we are from the various events depicted in science-fiction?
Well, this site features a bunch of countdown timers to future events, such as the discovery of an alien xenomorph by USCSS Nostromo (Alien), the Arrakis showdown (Dune), and the trouble with tribbles* (Star Trek).

*Somehow someone managed to convert star dates into proper dates. Even I'm not that dorky!

The White Stuff

While attempting to add a blogroll (see right), I took this opportunity to re-template this blog. Seems a bit more readable now, dunnit?

One drawback is that I have yet to tweak the HTML code in the template to enable expandable post summaries, so the full Montreal post takes up a honkin' lot of room below. My apologies...

Payback's a Bitch

Hey, animal lovers: what could be more fitting than a Michael Vick dog chew toy? Portions of the profits will be donated to various animal shelters. I wonder how many of these will be tossed on the field at Falcons' games this season.
Oh, background here, if you're not up on the latest atrocities from the world of sports.

Udder Nonsense

Wha?:

Mr. Milgrom-Elcott never missed a drop. Each month, he joined mothers with newborns and Wall Street titans in search of a box of unpasteurized, unhomogenized, raw milk. He is also part of a movement of perhaps hundreds of thousands across the country who will risk illness or even death to drink their milk the way Americans did for centuries: straight from the cow.

Twenty years ago, the Food and Drug Administration banned interstate sales of unpasteurized milk. This spring the agency warned consumers again that they were risking their health drinking raw milk.

Wha!?:

Clandestine milk clubs, like the one Mr. Milgrom-Elcott joined, are one way of circumventing the law, and there are others.

"Clandestine milk clubs." That's what I thought it said. OK.

Food scientists can hardly believe that so many consumers have turned their back on one of the most successful public health endeavors of the 20th century. In 1938, for example, milk caused 25 percent of all outbreaks of food- and water-related sickness.

With the advent of universal pasteurization, that number fell to 1 percent by 1993, according to the Center for Science in the Public Interest, a nutrition advocacy group in Washington.

I prefer to skip the milk entirely and spread a thick schmear of salmonella right on a bagel. Sure, it's risky, but the flavor is out of this world, especially if the bagels are green and moldy. Heaven! Later on, I shall have to post my recipe for deep fried E. coli with a marinara/Listeria sauce.

Monkey Business

This is not a headline one sees every day (thankfully):

Man smuggles monkey into NYC airport

And the story even lives up to its headline:

A man smuggled a monkey onto an airplane Tuesday, stashing the furry fist-size primate under his hat until passengers spotted it perched on his ponytail, an airline official said.
...
During the flight, people around the man noticed that the marmoset, which normally lives in forests and eats fruit and insects, had emerged from underneath his hat, Russell said.

"Other passengers asked the man if he knew he had a monkey on him," she said.

The monkey spent the remainder of the flight in the man's seat and behaved well, said Russell.

My guess it is behaved better than the humans. But I digress...

Airport police were waiting for the man and his monkey when the plane landed about 3 p.m., and the man was taken away for questioning. It was unclear whether he would face any criminal charges.

All's Well That Orwell

A slight variation on my oft-overused pun...

Anyway, this is how I like my irony:

According to the latest studies, Britain has a staggering 4.2million CCTV [closed circuit TV] cameras - one for every 14 people in the country - and 20 per cent of cameras globally. It has been calculated that each person is caught on camera an average of 300 times daily.

Use of spy cameras in modern-day Britain is now a chilling mirror image of Orwell's fictional world, created in the post-war Forties in a fourth-floor flat overlooking Canonbury Square in Islington, North London.

On the wall outside his former residence - flat number 27B - where Orwell lived until his death in 1950, an historical plaque commemorates the anti-authoritarian author. And within 200 yards of the flat, there are 32 CCTV cameras, scanning every move.

I guess I shall have to comb my hair and shave when I go to London next week.

Textual Harassment

Good grief:

In late June, five teenage girls were killed in a late-night car accident in upstate New York. They had all just graduated from high school, their lives ahead of them. After the accident, police discovered that the girl driving had been sending text messages in the moments leading up to the crash. Would a ban have saved their lives?

Washington state has already enacted legislation banning texting while driving, and so has New Jersey. Making calls and sending text messages from phones while driving both carry fines ($250 and $100, respectively) in the Garden State. Other states have proposals in the works.

Have people become so incredibly stupid that we actually need a law for this? Oy. Idiocracy, here we come. And if it's anything like the ban on talking on a cellphone while driving (illegal, in theory, in New York state), it will be routinely ignored. You know, watching Lost, I can't help but wonder what the drawback to living on an island in the middle of nowhere would be.

Objet de Mystère

Oh, and in Montreal I saw a bunch of what I assume are relics of an ancient civilization. Archaeologists are puzzled as to what these structures were used for. Religious observation? Fraternity stunts? Turning into a superhero? Bathroom? No one knows...

I’m a Dreamer, Montreal

As part of my strategy of getting the heck out of Saratoga as much as possible in August, I drove up to Montreal this past weekend, a city I’ve wanted to visit for a long time (and it’s only a three-hour drive, sans the hour-plus wait to get through Customs).

What a great city! J’adore Montréal! What a beautiful, clean, safe, friendly, fun place. I can’t imagine I would want to go there in the winter (although there is an entire underground city—la ville souterraine—so you never actually need to emerge and can spend the winter living a mole-like existence, if need be), however, in August (Août), it is sunny and hot--I was surprised that it was in the 80s and 90s, but really quite nice. (The locals dislike the heat.)

Montreal is predominantly French-speaking, but almost everyone I encountered was bilingual. Still, a few bon jours, mercis, s’il vous plaîts, and parlez-vous anglaises go a long way. Most signage is also bilingual, although signs in the Metro (the excellent subway system) is all-French, but it’s pretty easy to figure out what it means. (Four years of high school French failed me; sure, I can read Jean-Paul Sartre but can’t order a meal in a restaurant.)

Blow-by-blow account (and pictures) after the jump.



I originally went up ostensibly for the annual Divers/Cite festival, but was actually ensorcelled by just about everything else in Montreal. And seeing an advert in the Metro for the Insectarium, and realizing that it was not my house, I knew there was one place I had to go.

I drove up Friday afternoon, a pleasant enough drive—a least once I got north of Lake George and summer traffic abated. Traffic was backed up at Customs for about an hour (nothing compared to the almost three-hour wait to get back into the U.S.); I’m glad I remembered to bring my passport, as I needed it.

I got to the hotel about 2:30 and immediately set out to explore, getting the lay of the land, where everything was, and figuring out the best way to get around (foot, actually, although the Metro came in handy when it was raining or my feet were killing me). I had dinner at a Belgian restaurant downtown called L’Actuel, which specialized in mussels, which were quite good, although the “crispy vegetables” they were served with primarily comprised celery, which was odd. Still, Belgian beer was on tap, and everything was served with “Belgian fries” which are basically french fries. (“French” fries are actually a Belgian invention and the word “french” refers to the method of serving them—that is, cut into thin strips, or what we call “julienne.” This of course renders that whole “freedom fries” nonsense a few years ago even stupider than it was on its face.)

At about 7:30 I wandered down to The Village (no, not where The Prisoner was filmed; that’s in a couple weeks...) for an outdoor “Sunset Party.” After about an hour, the skies opened, unleashing the most torrential rain I have ever seen. I had neglected to bring an umbrella, so I dashed for the nearest Metro station and availed myself of la ville souterraine and a pub I found therein until it abated. There was a TV on that was broadcasting local news and, attempting to translate the captions, I mistook the word for “pool” (piscine) with that for “fish” (poisson), rendering a story about a backyard accident far more surreal than it actually was...

Saturday morning, I was up early, and had a series of events planned, including a trip to the Musee des Beaux Arts and the Montreal Planetarium. I set out and a couple blocks from the hotel I stayed at was the Cathedrale-Basilique Marie-Reine-du-Monde (Mary Queen of the World Cathedral), an homage to St. Peter’s in Rome (though decidedly more modest). It was built from 1875 to 1894, construction delayed by the Bishop’s desire to build the cathedral in Anglophone (and Protestant) west Montreal, rather than Francophone east Montreal. Apparently, he had a grudge to bear. Still, it’s a pretty cool building.
Since nothing opened until 10:00, and I had two hours to kill, on a lark I decided to hike to the top of Mont Royal, the large hill that gave the city its name (Mont Réal). It was a 3,5-km hike to the top, and not especially arduous. It's a very popular jogging and biking trail, and I was surprised at how crowded it was, even at that early hour. There is an observation platform at the top, which affords an excellent view of the city:
I hiked back down and got to the Musee des Beaux Arts just after 10. There was a special exhibition called “streamlining,” or a comprehensive collection of examples of industrial design from the 1930s onward. While I can understand the basic point of the exhibit and it was actually interesting, it occurred to me that I was standing in a museum of fine arts looking at staplers, adding machines, and vacuum cleaners. This struck me as very amusing and I couldn’t help but start giggling uncontrollably. Plus in one room were some artifacts that I think I had growing up. I’m sorry, but things that I have actually owned should not be in a fine arts museum!

After that, I wandered across the street to the second building--the museum exists in two parts, the original neo-classical building that opened in 1912:
and a new annex built in 1991 after the museum’s collection outgrew the original building-- where all the European art was housed. Some cool stuff, notably some great 19th-century still lifes (le nature morte) that feature crustaceans.

I finished up there about noon and was really hungry, so I wandered down Rue Crescent, where all the restaurants and pubs were. Several blocks were closed off as apparently there was some major NASCAR event happening on Saturday and there was some kind of festival for it taking place. While eating lunch, I got to watch a “pit stop” contest whereby people raced to be the first to change a tire on a race car. Odd. But here was something that would surely make the Fox News crowd’s heads collectively explode: a NASCAR event conducted in French. Hah!

After lunch, I ambled down to the Planetarium, which is an excellent one. I’m always leery of planetaria, as they are often far too kiddie-oriented and everything is written for an average age of 8. However, I was pleased to discover that this was a planetarium for adults, with a few concessions to younger folks. All the placards were bilingual, so for fun I tried to see if I could understand the French version without “cheating” and looking at the English (didn’t do too badly). There was a show called “Le nouveau système solaire”--the English-language version (“The New Solar System”) showing at 2:30.

I had about an hour to kill, so I walked to nearby Vieux-Montreal, or “Old Montreal,” the spot where the city was originally founded in 1642. Needless to say, the architecture is all correspondingly old and quite beautiful and impressive, representative of a time before architects and designers started building structures with a contempt for humanity (e.g. New York's Penn Station). (I admit, I’m a neo-classical snob...) I thought this bank was quite impressive:
Heck, I’d bank there. Would that my Bank of America branch were as aesthetically pleasing. Also in Vieux-Montreal is the Basilique Notre-Dame, an immense cathedral built in 1824. Interestingly, it was designed by James O’Donnell, an Irish-American Protestant architect—yes, designing a Catholic cathedral (hey, a job’s a job, right?). Apparently, he was so moved by the experience that after the basilica was completed he converted to Catholicism. I don’t have any affinity whatsoever for Roman Catholicism but I do admit they certainly know how to build a church.
There was a wedding taking place, so I didn’t get to go inside (well, I could have, but it would have been rude). I wandered around Vieux-Montreal a bit, then ambled back to the Planetarium. The show on "The New Solar System” was quite excellent, comprising as it did an update on major astronomical events, discoveries, and clarifications of the past several years, focusing on the whole Pluto controversy. (I thought they gave the Cassini mission to Saturn short shrift, but who am I to complain?). They also gave a short presentation on that evening’s sky, for stargazers. Most notably, the International Space Station would be passing overhead between 21h30 (9:30—all times in Montreal are given using a 24-hour clock--confusing at first, but you learn to automatically subtract 12) and 23h (11:00) and would be the brightest object in the sky. (At that time, I was at an outdoor event and there was too much light pollution from the city to see much of anything in the sky, but I did see some bright object overhead in approximately the right place, so it may have been it.)

After the planetarium show, it was about 4:00, and I was exhausted and my feet hurt, so I went back to the hotel and took a nap before heading out on the town. Quick question: what motivates people in hotels to constantly slam doors?!

Sunday morning, I had until noon to check out and discovering--quel horreur!--that the maid had neglected to replace my in-room coffee, I lurched across the street to Gare Centrale (Central Station) for coffee. Sufficiently caffeinated, I hopped on the Metro (it was 7 km, a bit too far of a walk given the time I had) to visit the Jardin Botanique (Botanical Garden) and the one thing I had been looking forward to all weekend: the Insectarium, which did not disappoint. The Diversity Room had pinned and mounted examples of insects from around the world, some freakishly huge. They also had live examples, such as giant Madagascar hissing cockroaches, large beetles, scarabs, stick insects of various lengths, and several scorpions and tarantulas (apparently, it is also an Arachnidarium as well as an Insectarium). On the upper level, a whole room was devoted to social insects, ants and bees, predominantly, although I did notice that one renegade had managed to escape the live ant exhibit. There is also a scale on which you can determine your weight in ants--mine happened to be 4,000,000, which I think I will put on my driver’s license when it comes up for renewal. I could have spent hours at the Insectarium, but I had scant time before checkout, and I did want to hit the road fairly early to beat traffic (didn’t happen).
Before heading back, I did wander through the Jardin Botanique and really did enjoy it (got lost a few times). It's divided into a number of different regions, such as the Chinese Garden, the Japanese Garden (yes, with Asian men and women standing in flower pots, for you Police Squad fans), an alpine garden, an ornamental vegetable garden, an “experimental garden” (where I expected to find Peter Graves and giant grasshoppers), and many many other things. Begun in 1931, the Jardin Botanique has well in excess of 20,000 varieties of plants. There are a variety of events that take place (like tea ceremonies in the Japanese Garden) but I only spent a mere 45 minutes there and saw only the smallest fraction of what there was to see. Should I return to Montreal (and I would love to) I shall have to make it a point to spend more time in the Jardin Botanique.
Headed out about noon and got stuck in the line for Customs for almost three hours. There were helicopters, officers with German shepherds walking between the rows of cars, my trunk was searched, they grilled me on where I was, what I did, what I do for a living--man, it felt like East Berlin. I was at least happy that my papers were in order.

Still, I absolutely loved Montreal and would definitely like to go back and spend more time there.

It Slices! It Dices!

The media buzz surrounding the new Apple iPhone and all the wonderful, fantabulous things it can do reminded me of a link Dr. Joe sent me some years ago. I relink to it here--yes, it's in Danish, but you don't need to understand the narration to find it very funny, and not half reminiscent of the PR for the iPhone.

Oh, and Saratoga Springs' own John McPherson presents his wry take on the iPhone in his very funny "Close to Home" comic strip. (If this link brings up a newer strip, scroll back to August 2.)

Persona Non Grata

Interesting--all the Ingmar Bergman movies I had added to my Netflix queue now say "Short Wait" in the Availability column. Doh! Fortunately, I own Wild Strawberries and The Seventh Seal. (I had a vision the other night that Death appeared and challenged me to a game of pinochle. I've got to stop watching movies after eating a 16-piece of buffalo wings.)

Tellingly perhaps, all the Antonioni movies in my queue are available "Now." Some directors just don't have the same cachet as others...

IM the Eggman

Goo goo goo joob.

Anyway, head on over to The Industry Measure blog one of these days for a shameless plug for the latest issue of How magazine, which features a round-up of visions of "the future of design"-- for which they asked me to contribute. There is also comment on a printing technology that is just plain nuts, as well as a study out of Australia that implies that you should keep a canary around your laser printer.

By the way, I also contribute fortnightly to Reed Business' Expert Business Source blog, where Heidi Tolliver-Nigro and I take turns rabbiting on about marketing--she about print, me about things other than print. My latest post is here, for the morbidly curious.

As if that weren't enough, when goaded sufficiently by Clifton Park's own Joel Friedman, I also contribute (but not as often as he would like) to the Xinet Users Group (XUG, which would make a great name for an evil alien) blog (but then so would "Blog"). I take on the recent Adobe/printing industry silliness here.

That should be enough reading material for now. I am off to Montreal for the weekend and shall not be blogging in any way, shape, or form.

Baby Got Bactine

Every time I do yardwork--or any kind of work around the house, really--I am reminded of Lady Macbeth's line: "Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?" From now on, I am wearing chain mail whenever I use the weed whacker.

On the plus side, my day lilies bloomed, so I guess everything I touch I don't destroy...

Toys for Tots

Ah, if only I knew Japanese, as I would love to have (or give as a gift to the niece--it's even odds at this point) a stuffed Anomalocaris.
For those not in the know, Anomalocaris is one of the extinct creatures whose fossils were found in the Burgess Shale in 1909 (but the fossils were reexamined in the 1980s, leading to our current understanding of these critters). Anomalocaris was part of the Cambrian explosion, or massive diversification of creatures--mostly early arthopods--that took place starting around 580 million years ago. The discovery of these fossils and a look at the bizarre organisms that left them are the subjects of Stephen Jay Gould's excellent 1990 book Wonderful Life, one of my favorite books of all time.

How about a stuffed Hallucigenia or Wiwaxia? I think a whole set of plushie Burgess Shale creatures is in order.

Then again, flipping through Wonderful Life, which I haven't read in years, while writing this post, I swear I saw some of these creatures in my bathroom the other night. Maybe I should have held off on the Raid.

Death of Cinema

Jeepers--great Italian film director Michaelangelo Antonioni has died on the same day as great Swedish director Ingmar Bergman.

Sorry, Mike, my DVD player is still backlogged with Bergman films right now. You'll have to wait until next week for your retrospective....

Guess it's a good thing Kurosawa and Fellini are already dead. Hmm... Anyone heard from Jean-Luc Godard lately?

Walk This Way

I like to walk. Always have. There's nothing I hate more than having to drive places. Aside from a couple of junkers I had in high school, I didn't even really own a car until I was 30 (the old joke being that no one in New York City has a car because there's too much traffic), and even when I lived in L.A. (Torrance, actually), it was surprisingly pedestrian-friendly (aside from the time the carload of nuns ran a red left-turn arrow and almost ran me over--how I wish I were making that up!) and I did walk most places I needed to go.

Unfortunately, living out here in the 'burbs of Upstate New York means that walking is next to impossible. And it's not even that things are especially distant (my range is about 2.5-3.0 miles); it's that there are no sidewalks, crosswalks, walk/don't walk signs, or anything that would make surburban walking even remotely convenient. Downtown would be doable on foot--if it were physically possible to get from Point A to Point B without caroming off someone's hood and ending up in a bloody heap in Point C. Because, let's face it, people drive like idiots. (For proof, just wait at the bus stop in downtown Saratoga and watch the carnage.)

Lots of folks are in the same boat--and here is an interesting site called WalkScore that rates the walkability to a variety of nearby attractions or businesses from a given address. As I would expect, my address yielded a 31 out of 100. There are some interesting things from the list of nearby attractions. The first is that Reel Meals (a dinner-and-a-movie place that was pretty unsatisfactory for either) is out of business, and I've never heard of Excellent Adventure bookstore. And why Espey Manufacturing is listed under "Library" is beyond me.

On a related note, I was very happy that the CDTA (Capital District Transportation Authority) expanded its bus service to downtown Saratoga from near where I live. The nearest bus stop, as it turns out, is a scant 0.8 miles from my house, the fare is $1, and it runs every hour. I have taken it several times (the service started in early July) and it's a great way to get into Saratoga without having to drive around forever looking for non-existent parking--especially now that the racetrack is open, traffic is insanity, and the last vestiges of civilization have disappeared from this town. It also means I can save on gas, and not have to order Diet Pepsi in a bar--added bonuses.

Waiting at the bus stop is interesting, though; people driving by--literally to a man or woman (aside from those on cellphones who are oblivious to anything anyway)--look at me as if I had had Rosey Grier and Ray Milland heads grafted on. Is the idea of public transort so foreign to hardcore suburbanites? All I can say is, "Tough." And, heck, I'd rather spend money on beer than gas any day.

Checkmate

No smiles this summer night...

Master filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, one of the greatest artists in cinema history, died today at his home on an island off the coast of Sweden. He was 89.

Bergman's dozens of works combined deep seriousness, indelible imagery and unexpected flashes of humor in finely written, inventively shot explorations of difficult subjects such as plague and madness.

Watching the Dark

Derek L., the Saratoga Film Forum's illustrious managing director (and the hardest working man in show business), told me about a British comedy series called Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, saying it "was right up my alley." (People are always tellng me things like this, and all I can say is I'm not sure I want to be in that alley alone at night. Or during the day, for that matter.)

Anyway, the program(me) aired a few years ago on the UK's Channel 4, and all six episodes are available online here (or on DVD, but Region 2 only--doh!).

The premise of the show is this: It's a mock retrospective hosted by (fictional) horror writer/egomaniac Garth Marenghi, who is hung up on his own purported genius. ("My books are essentially 'what ifs.' In my book 'Black Fang,' what if a rat could drive a bus? And what if it and its rat brethren took over and ate Parliament?")

He introduces the "reairing" of a (fictional) horror show he wrote, produced, and starred in in the 1980s set in a haunted hospital. He and other cast and crewmembers reminisce about the show--oblivious to the fact the show was staggeringly bad. The acting is atrocious, the dialogue is badly written, the overdubbing is horrible, and the special effects make Mystery Science Theater 3000 look like the last Star Wars movie. The thing is, though, it so accurately captures the feel of 1980s television, from the sets, to the hair, to the cheeseball music, to...everything. It is two parts Twilight Zone, three parts Buffy the Vampire Slayer, one part ER, and five parts The A Team. (Yes, I am aware that only one of those shows was actually from the 1980s.) It is absolutely hysterical. Episode Two is pure art.

Sadly, only the first three episodes on Google Video were digitized from the original Channel 4 broadcasts; the last three episodes were from a SciFi Channel broadcast--meaning the occasional bad language was bleeped and two minutes were cut out to make room for crappy commercials for shite I wouldn't want to buy anyway. Oh, and of course, the bit of the show that runs under the end credits was squished and rendered invisible so they could promote other crappy SciFi Channel shows. (Basically all the things that make American television really annoying.) I gotta find a hack for Region 2 DVDs...

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways...sometimes he comes in at an angle, or just hovers."

"I ran the only way I knew how...by putting one leg in front of the other in rapid succession."

"Often the shows were at least three minutes short, so any scene that didn't have dialogue was run in slow motion."

"Understood?" "As crystal."

It's pure brilliance.

Memo to Myself

Do the dumb things I gotta do

Touch the puppet head.

Cat Scratch Fever

Do you have a cat? Do you think it has too much dignity? Do you wish to psychologically torture your cat? Well, then, the folks at Hello Kitty have got just the thing--bib, collar, and carrying bag to abase and humilate your poor kitty.
If I remember the cats I had when I lived at home, it wouldn't be so much "Hello Kitty" as "Hello Flesh Wounds."

With Six You Get Maalox

From Japan, oddly enough, comes what I would initially think of as the quintessential--and most revolting--American meal:

Pizza Hut Japan's exclusive Double Roll pie is 646 calories per slice, with little bacon wrapped sausages littered across the crust, and mini hamburger patties on top of the mushrooms, soy beans, corn, paprika, garlic chips, green peppers, and pepperoni. As for cheese, it has mozzarella, cheddar and parmigiana. BTW, this comes with ketchup and maple syrup for extra flavor, and is recommended for kids.

Well, recommended, I suppose, for kids you don't particularly like. (It's the "bacon-wrapped sausages" that make it art.) I think the only thing more appetizing would be a big stick of deep-fried butter, or perhaps a personal feeding trough containing the entire contents of a Las Vegas hotel buffet.

Up in Arms

Via Pharyngula, a sacrilege, to be sure: Octopus Faith, or using an octopus as a metaphor for religious faith. As an octopus fancier, I am deeply offended. Now, if it had been the actual deification of an octopus, I could go for that.

Two things strike me about that site: a) octopuses do not have tentacles, they have arms, and b) that woman looks like a deranged Chuckie.

Acorny Joke?

This can't possibly be true. Says the Iranian newspaper Resalat, via the BBC, via the Washington Post):

"A few weeks ago, 14 squirrels equipped with espionage systems of foreign intelligence services were captured by [Iranian] intelligence forces along the country's borders. These trained squirrels, each of which weighed just over 700 grams, were released on the borders of the country for intelligence and espionage purposes. According to the announcement made by Iranian intelligence officials, alert police officials caught these squirrels before they could carry out any task."

There wasn't a moose accompanying any of those squirrels, was there?

How on earth do you train a squirrel? They can't even figure out not to dart out in front of moving cars.

Then again, when I lived in my first apartment in Saratoga, the phone abruptly went out one day and Verizon came and told me that a squirrel had bitten through the outside phone line. So maybe we shouldn't underestimate the power of the squirrel! Or Verizon should stop using acorn-flavored cable insulation. I was also told that they occasionally bite through electrical wires, too. Not very bright; but I do keep a row of barbecue grills lined up beneath my electrical wires, just in case. Here's a serving hint for fricasseed squirrel--leaving the tail on makes for an attractive presentation.

Ice Ice Baby

Are you frail and waiflike? Is putting your hand in a cooler full of ice akin to putting it in a big urn of liquid nitrogen? Now you can ensure that your oh-so-delicate fingers do not freeze and snap off with the silly Arctic Net Cooler Scoop.

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

I bet you this octopus won't even get a cut of the loot, or even an academic position:

The extraordinary discovery on what was for 58-year-old Mr Kim another 'day at the office' began when he took his small boat out from the town of Taean, 60 miles south west of Seoul. As usual, he was hoping for a good catch of webfoot octopus, which are a delicacy in Korea.
...
Casting out a long line, he felt a familiar tug and hauled up his first octopus of the day. He was puzzled by several blue objects attached to its suckers and thought at first they were shells.

But when he examined them, he realised they were pieces of pottery. Not realising he was on the point of making an incredible discovery, he cast out his line again and again, bringing in more octopus with shards of pottery attached.

Then he brought one up with a whole plate caught on its tentacles.

By now, Mr Kim realised that there had to be something important deep below. He had heard that divers had found several shipwrecks filled with relics, including ancient pottery, along the coast.
...
'We arranged for an urgent exploration of the sea bed and although we did not find a ship down there, we were able to find 30 12th century bowls.

'It seems that a ship carrying Koryo pottery was wrecked there and what excites us is that these pieces are perfect examples of beautiful Koryo pottery. A large number of kilns were established in the area and the ship must have been transporting the pieces when it went down.

'Although other ships have been found and pottery recovered, this is the first time a family of octopus have found a wreck for us.'
...
[T]he chance discovery is being hailed as one of the great undersea treasure discoveries of modern times.

Bat Boy, R.I.P.

Ah, truly a sad moment: an American institution is shutting its doors:

Weekly World News Shutting Down

While it isn't strictly a genre publication, and it does bill itself as "The World's Only Reliable Newspaper," the editor has decided that this announcement does fall within SFScope's purview:

American Media has decided to suspend publication of Weekly World News, both the print publication and the web site. No reason was given at press time, although reliable sources do tell us that management turned down at least one offer to buy the publication.

The weekly supermarket tabloid—known as the home of "Bat Boy" and other less-than-probable stories—has long had staffing connections with the science fiction, fantasy, and horror fields.

Ah, going to the supermarket will never be the same! After all, the Weekly World News was Photoshopping pictures long before there was a Photoshop. The 1990 cover with George Bush walking with the space alien was priceless.

I always liked WWN columnist Ed Anger, who was always incoherently "pig-biting mad" about something, usually liberals. I guess in this age of talk radio and Fox News, poor Ed just can't compete. (Good for the pigs, I guess.)

There was, believe it or not, a Weekly World News TV show for a very short period of time in the late 1990s (I think). It had potential, but could not live up to the print edition.

Gigantic

A new They Might Be Giants album is always a reason to celebrate, and The Else, which came out two weeks ago, has scarcely left my iPod/CD player.

I first discovered They in 1986, when a high school friend of mine bought their debut album (on vinyl), hated it, and gave it to me. I confess, it was about a year before I actually listened to it, and when I did it was only because I was in a friend's car in Syracuse and there was this cool song on the tape deck with the line "All the people are so happy now/They're heads are caving in." I asked what it was, was told it was They Might Be Giants, and realized to my slight embarrassment that I actually owned it. Naturally, when I got back to the apartment, I dug out the record, put it on, and discovered, hey!, I really liked it.

Their second album Lincoln came out in 1988--which I picked up on vinyl, as well--and I thought it a disappointment at the time, but liked a lot on it.

So I have followed Their career eagerly ever since. They were based in Brooklyn, so when I lived in NYC there were many opportunities to see Them live, and They often did free concerts in Central Park or Prospect Park, so I saw Them a half dozen or so times between 1990 and 1996. I last saw Them live in 1998 when They played at the House of Blues in West Hollywood.

They intially started out as just two guys named John--a guitarist and an accordionist/keyboardist/tuba-ist, etc.--who played to a drum machine (an early song was called "Rhythm Section Want Ad"). They also had the ability to absorb, replicate, and mutate a bewildering variety of musical styles, extremely odd instrumentation (friends of mine and I used to si around listening to their records and playing "name that instrument"), and clever, surreal, and downright funny lyrics. One very early song was based on an odd hyphenation one of them discovered on the back of a Bob Dylan album, and thus was born the saga of Mr. Tambo and Urine Man. That's the kind of thing They do.

In 1994, they added an actual backing band, which cut down on the idiosyncrasy a bit, but they have gradually learned how to combine the best aspects of working with an organic, live band and the "musical pop culture in a blender" approach of their earlier material.

My favorite TMBG track? A song called "I Can Hear You," recorded at the Edison Laboratory on an original wax cylinder, and is a litany of modern communications devices (airplane phones, apartment intercoms, fast food drive-through windows, etc.) that sound no better than Edison wax cylinders (it was recorded before thw advent of the cellphone). Absolutely brilliant. It's on 1996's Factory Showroom if you want to find it.

I sort of lost track of Them for a while as they delved into making children's records (which, as it turns out, aren't that far removed from their proper albums).

The Else is their first "real" album since 2004's somewhat disappointing The Spine, but it is a better record. It starts off slow (the first few tracks are a tad dull), but the album gets better as it goes on and gets stranger. "The Shadow Government" marks the beginning of the good stuff, and the convoluted wordplay and odd instrumentation of "Bee of the Bird of the Moth" is classic TMBG. By the time "The Mesopotamians" comes on (with its singalong chorus of "Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh!") you're with them all the way. (These are also the same guys who wrote a song documenting the James K. Polk administration, a celebration of Belgium's famous painter James Ensor ("he lived with his mother and the torments of Christ"), a catchy scientific treatise about mammals, a a botany lesson all about conifers.

Anyway, the best of the new album is the bonus disc of podcasts (a 21st century version of their old Dial-a-Song answering machine service), which contains the weirder (and better) stuff. Highly recommended.

The Hunting (and Gathering) of the Snark

This is one of those lines that that just cry out for a snarky, sarcastic comment:

Domino's Pizza credited its investment in IT for significant sales and profit gains for the first half of 2007.

That must be the explanation, because it certainly isn't their pizza, which is pretty inedible.

Giant Sun

It's the weekend, and before you go frolic in the sun, here are They Might Be Giants singing about the sun, performing their rendition of the 1950s science class favorite "Why Does the Sun Shine?" taped, appropriately enough, at Mohegan Sun in July 2006.

Oh, Too!

The Angry Toxicologist (an informative new science blog I found) takes on one of the silliest products one could ever market:

The POD, or Personal Oxygen Device, by GO2, is simply that: portable oxygen for you to "energize" and "refresh, restore, renew your mind and body on the cellular level with oxygen". Ooooo...cellular. Sounds scientificy, let's get it!

First I have to note that if your body is short on oxygen, you'll simply breathe harder.

However, as I have probably discussed on this blog before, breathing oxygen in excess of what we normally breathe in the air is really quite harmful. Why? Well, one more time for the world:

Oxygen is reactive, our bodies exploit this aspect by having O2 accept the energy that we use to keep our bodies going (that's a really broad definition of why we need oxygen). However, this reactivity can have unintended consequences; for one, oxidation is the main reason our bodies age (oxidation is also why iron turns to rust). This is the reason that anti-aging creams try to pack in the anti-oxidants.

Too much oxygen in the lungs can really damage the tissue with its reactivity. Researchers started measuring the damage a couple years ago by looking at isofurans, a chemical that signals that the cell walls are being damaged by oxidation.

When this damage occurs, the lungs heal themselves, but that's exactly where the problem occurs, because the lungs are a really flexible and permeable tissue. Scar tissue isn't. So eventually, the scar tissue builds up and it's not only harder to breathe, but less air gets across the lung surface to the blood and vice versa. As you can imagine, asthmatics and smokers will feel this first.

So there! Marketers attempting to sell the health benefits of pure oxygen are just spouting so much hot air.

I, Robot

Via Pharyngula, a self-test to discover one's personality defects. Oh, the irony; I was hoping for "haughty intellectual."

Your Score: Robot

You are 100% Rational, 0% Extroverted, 14% Brutal, and 42% Arrogant.

You are the Robot! You are characterized by your rationality. In fact, this is really ALL you are characterized by. Like a cold, heartless machine, you are so logical and unemotional that you scarcely seem human. For instance, you are very humble and don't bother thinking of your own interests, you are very gentle and lack emotion, and you are also very introverted and introspective. You may have noticed that these traits are just as applicable to your laptop as they are to a human being. You are not like the robots they show in the movies. Movie robots are make-believe, because they always get all personable and likeable after being struck by lightning, or they are cold, cruel killing machines. In all reality, though, you are much more boring than all that. Real robots just sit there, doing their stupid jobs, and doing little else. If you get struck by lightning, you won't develop a winning personality and heart of gold. (Robots don't have hearts, silly, and if they did, they would probably be made of steel, not gold.) You also won't be likely to terrorize humanity by becoming an ultra-violent killing machine sent into the past to kill the mother of a child who will lead a rebellion against machines, because that movie was dumb as hell, and because real robots don't kill--they horribly maim at best, and they don't even do that on purpose. Real robots are boringly kind and all too rarely try to kill people. In all my years, my laptop has only attacked me once, and that was only because my brother threw it at me. In short, your personality defect is that you don't really HAVE a personality. You are one of those annoying, super-logical people that never gets upset or flustered. Unless, of course, you short circuit. Or if someone throws a pie at you. Pies sure are delicious.

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive.

2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted.

3. You are more GENTLE than brutal.

4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Class Clown.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hand-Raiser, the Emo Kid, and the Haughty Intellectual.

*

*

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

Be sure to take my Sublime Philosophical Crap Test if you are interested in taking a slightly more intellectual test that has just as many insane ramblings as this one does!

About Saint_Gasoline

I am a self-proclaimed pseudo-intellectual who loves dashes. I enjoy science, philosophy, and fart jokes and water balloons, not necessarily in that order. I spend 95% of my time online, and the other 5% of my time in the bathroom, longing to get back on the computer. If, God forbid, you somehow find me amusing instead of crass and annoying, be sure to check out my blog and my webcomic at SaintGasoline.com.

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Seasoned Greetings

Boy, I must be amazingly popular! The sheer number of notices I have received in the past several weeks telling me that I have received an electronic greeting card has now exceeded the number of people in the world who would actually be likely to send me an electronic greeting card. And who is sending me these notices of joy? Well, no names are given, just:

a School mate
a Partner
a Colleague
a Family member
a Mate
a Class mate

The cards apparently are from real card companies (Hallmark, AmericanGreetings) but closer examination shows that a letter or two is off. That and the fact that neither I nor the sender is specifically named made me more than a little suspicious (as did the fact that I am in touch with only two "school mates" and I can't imagine either of them ever being inclined to send me a greeting card apropos of nothing--or, at all, really).

I did some searching and discovered that this is indeed a hoax, designed to trick you into accessing a site that will load a Trojan horse onto your computer (which was my initial suspicion). More info here. This Greeting Card Hoax first made the rounds in 1999, but seems to have become a little more malicious.

Kind of reminded me of the "I Love You" virus that hit in 2000--my suspicion was immediately raised when I received an e-mail from Cygnus' Senior VP with the subject line "I Love You." Entire books could be written about why that was an incredibly unlikely scenario...

And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead

The dark side of today's ubiquitous gardgetry (assuming there's a bright side) is that we are edging closer to the dystopia presented in the movie Idiocracy. Just when I thiougbt that talking on cellphones was among the dumbest, most sociopathic things humans could do, now I find that apparently the hip-yet-utterly-fucking-moronic new thing to do is text while driving, with, of course, the fairly predictable trail of carnage. What is wrong with people?

The debate now is whether to ban texting while driving. Y'know, what is the point? There reaches a point, even in our overly paternalistic society, where you just have to let natural stupidity take its course. It should be obvious that texting while driving is a dumbass thing to do, but then would be barbecuing a steak while driving, or reading Proust while driving, or assembling a bicycle while driving, or doing jigsaw puzzles while driving, or building bookshelves while driving, or playing volleyball while driving, or solving Schrodinger's wave equation while driving...some things should just be obvious. But, I guess not. Why I take great pains to not drink and drive is beyond me...

Keep the Change?

Bank of America--the bank at which I have my account(s) for reasons passing understanding*--has this program called "Keep the Change," which is pitched at me every time I spend the 20 minutes required to to get money out of their lethargic ATMs. I have never been able to understand why anyone would think it was a good idea. And it seems that I am not the only one. Over at Marginal Revolution, economist Alex Tabarrok writes:

The Bank of America's Keep the Change program freaks me out. Every time you make a charge with your B of A debit card it rounds the figure up to the nearest whole amount and transfers the change to your checking account. Commercials for this service are all over the television and radio - tagline: "you don't even have to think about saving" - and every time I see one I feel the gulf between me and the rest of humanity widening (MR readers excepted of course).

Look, I can understand Ulysses tying himself to the mast, I can understand locking the refrigerator and I can understand Christmas accounts but I will never understand how anyone can increase their savings by taking money from one account and putting it into another. I think I will write a book, I will call it Mental Accounting for Dummies:

The secret to saving more money is simple. In your right hand is money for spending. In your left hand is money for savings. Now take some money from your right hand and put it into your left hand. Tada! Wasn't that easy?

Consumer Reports also had a pretty thorough debunking of the program some time ago, as well.

It wouldn't work for me anyway because I adamantly refuse to use a debit card.


*Actually, I remain there because after seven years the managers and tellers all know me, which makes the rare special request so much easier to ask for and be granted.

Head Trip

Sometimes a lollipop is just a lollipop--no matter how freakish.

Tasmanian Devil

Why can't I ever stumble across these things when out for a walk on the beach?

A giant squid washed up on the shores of Tasmania has scientists in a frenzy.
...
They will take samples from the massive creature, which has been identified by Tasmania Parks and Wildlife as giant squid Architeuthis.
...
The hood of the squid is about two metres long and the body a couple of metres long.

A TPWS spokesman said the tentacles have been badly mangled so their length could not be measured.
...
A member of the public made the discovery last night.

Heh

The Onion is on top of things with a new magazine launch:

New Pompous Asshole Magazine To Compete With Cigar Aficionado

NEW YORK—Upscale consumers who enjoy cigars, wine, and "all the finer things in life" will have a new magazine to enjoy beginning next month when Pompous Asshole hits the stands. Targeted at the 23- to 60-year-old pompous-asshole demographic, the new monthly magazine is expected to compete directly with Cigar Aficionado for advertising dollars. "Pompous Asshole is the magazine of the good life," said publisher Paul Westman, "And, unlike Cigar Aficionado, we truly cover it all: From tips on choosing the right humidor to advice on where to gamble in Monte Carlo to the lowdown on the new Jaguar XJ8, Pompous Asshole is the magazine no rich prick can afford to be without."

More Walkies

Yesterday, the Two Rivers group and I went for a hike up Bash Bish Falls near Taconic State Park, in the "three corners" area (where New York, Masschusetts, and Connecticut meet). It was billed as an easy hike to the falls, then a "slightly" more arduous trek up the falls (or, more properly, up the side of the falls). At the bottom is a bulletin board containing a half dozen or so news stories of people who have died while hiking there--typically by ignoring the "do not go beyond this point" signs or doing similarly dumb things. (My recurring question was whether the name "Bash Bish" came from the sound of hikers caroming off rocks.)
Anyway, the extremely steep ascent was quite arduous indeed; fortunately, there is a metal handrail you can use to help hoist yourself up (would installing an escalator chairlift kill them?). We lunched on a small plateau midway up the falls, which I thought was part of the legal trail but actually wasn't so we got chased off by a park ranger. The view from the top was quite spectacular, and the very steep descent even more challenging than the ascent, IMO, thanks to the, um, gravity of the situation. Happily, the six of us made it up and down none the worse for wear--a few bruises and cuts and some aching muscles, but that's about it. Still, it was a great deal of fun.
I think it's time to invest in a good pair of hiking boots....

Aloha, "Octosquid"

This is cool:

Scientists at the University of Hawaii at Manoa will soon have a chance to investigate a creature that appears to be half squid, half octopus that was found in waters off the Big Island.

It appears that the creature was sucked up in a deep seawater pipeline at the Natural Energy Laboratory Hawaii Authority at Keahole on the Big Island.
The pipeline pumps cold water up from 3,000 feet below sea level. Occasionally deep-sea marine life will get caught in a filter in the line, officials said.

Workers call the latest find an "octosquid." It has the body of a squid and the tentacles of an octopus.

This isn't entirely unheard of; marine biologists have already found Taningia danae, an eight-armed deep sea squid.

Cold Calling

If you're eager to get out of your wireless contrat (and, quite frankly, who wouldn't be?), Sprint makes it easy: just call customer service too much:

A Sprint customer, whose personal information has been obscured in this image, recently received this letter from Sprint Nextel saying that his contract would be canceled because Sprint believed he had contacted customer service too much. Other subscribers received similar alerts.

Cutting Remarks

You know, not all economic news has to be depressing. If you're in the market for a machete and are worried about overpaying for one, you're in luck:

The price of machetes has halved in parts of Nigeria since the end of general elections in April because demand from thugs sponsored by politicians has subsided, the state-owned News Agency of Nigeria reported.

NAN surveyed prices in the northeastern state of Gombe and found that a good quality machete was now selling for 400 naira ($3) compared with 800 naira before the elections, which were marred by politically motivated violence in many states.

It's common to overlook the "hired thug" factor when analyzing economic data.