This essay has been inspired by the following story:
( more here: http://news.independent.co.uk/world/americas/article3033364.ece )
“A Minnesota jury has ordered a woman to pay $222,000 (£109,000) for sharing music over the internet, in what has been hailed as a landmark ruling.
Jammie Thomas, a native-American who works on an Indian reservation, was ordered to pay the six record companies suing her $9,250 for each of 24 songs they focused on in the case. The sum is equivalent to about five times her annual salary and is expected to force her into bankruptcy.”
This essay will concern itself not with the legal technicalities of the case, it shall be assumed that Thomas did indeed violate the letter of Minnesotan law. Rather, it shall examine whether it is possible to construct a rationally sound defence of such practises and thus whether laws ought to be changed to reflect this.
I shall begin by dismissing an argument which is often raised, but which I believe lacks sufficient merit to warrant further investigation.
Firstly, there is the argument that the price of C.D.s are unreasonable and thus record companies have only themselves to blame. This argument I think is relatively easy to eliminate without much discussion. No matter what the price of music, it cannot be said that we have a right to own music which we do not produce. As with any luxury product, simply not being able to afford it (or believing the price to be unreasonable) does not justify stealing it. If I can’t afford that Ferrari I’m not justified in stealing it, I have to buy a cheaper car. If I can’t afford a car, then I have to use public transport or walk. Yes it may be the case that music costs too much (though this has recently become highly debatable given online music stores offering songs at much reduced prices and established bands like Radiohead offering their albums for whatever their fans are willing to pay) but we are not justified in stealing something, just because it is overpriced.
It occurs to me however, that the analogy of buying a car may be slightly flawed.
There is perhaps a difference in what is happening when I download music illegally and when I steal a car.
Downloading a song creates a copy of the original so to speak, and gives me possession of this copy.
This is in marked contrast to stealing a car, which adds to my possessions, but deprives the rightful owner of the use of his car.
If we see theft as wrong exclusively because of the element of depravation, then it cannot be argued that the song’s original owner is being deprived of the song since it never leaves his possession.
It could of course be argued that what the owner is being deprived of is the money which he would have received in selling his own copies of his work.
At this point I think, a divergence occurs. If I would buy a piece of music, but I choose instead to download it, in order to save money, then I am still depriving the music’s owner of the money I would have spent on the piece of music.
However, we can imagine cases where this is not so. Perhaps I had no intention of buying an album, I merely like one of the songs and I am not (nor would I ever be) willing to pay the price of a full album just to get to listen to the one song I like. Perhaps I do not care for the majority of music enough to ever spend money on it.
If I would not have bought the music anyway, then I cannot be said to have deprived the artist of anything.
Thus perhaps we can justify illegally downloading music on the basis that as long as we buy what we would have bought regardless, no deprivation is occurring (perhaps it might be argued that we are in fact adding to the artist’s revenue if a download makes us want to buy an album we otherwise would have ignored.
Saturday 6 October 2007
Thursday 2 August 2007
A Curtain Falls
Alas, imaginary reader, my time as commander in chief of this blog grows short. The darkness is encroaching, my breathing draws tight, and ITV have edited the footage together in such a way as to make it look like I've already relinquished control of the blog.
I'd like to think that I've achieved something in my short editorial something. Certainly, my contribution to the blogosphere has been at least as impressive as this man's contribution to culture and the arts. At the very least, when Brian takes the reins again following his 3 weeks spreading syphillis around Europe, his high-brow natterings are going to seem that bit more impressive by comparison to the rest of the detritus that currently litters this page.
But I have his username and password, and if things start to get a little too sophisticated, I may well sneak in and lower the tone again some time.
I'd like to think that I've achieved something in my short editorial something. Certainly, my contribution to the blogosphere has been at least as impressive as this man's contribution to culture and the arts. At the very least, when Brian takes the reins again following his 3 weeks spreading syphillis around Europe, his high-brow natterings are going to seem that bit more impressive by comparison to the rest of the detritus that currently litters this page.
But I have his username and password, and if things start to get a little too sophisticated, I may well sneak in and lower the tone again some time.
Click me!
Combining the above with the wake of the recent spat between Russia and Britain following the former's refusal to extradite Andrei Lugovoi, the man accused of murdering Alexander Litvenyenko and leaving a trail of radiation droppings around Britain like a pigeon from Chernobyl, and the growing tensions with the US ("If you get to park your missiles in Poland then I get to tear up this treaty!"), one could be forgiven for thinking we're headed for a follow-up to everyone's favourite cold war... The Cold War.
With this in mind, I'd like to suggest the following monickers for this conflict, should it escalate into such. These provisional titles have not been approved by Hollywood marketeers who understand which sounds are soothing to the collective public ear.
-Cold War 2: War Colder
-Cold War With A Vengeance
-Cold War 2: Electric Bugaloo
-Cold War II
-Cold War 2: Sub-Zero
-Live Free or Cold War
-Cold War 2: Absolute Zero
-George Dubya Bush and the War of Coldness
-Merchant Ivory's A Colde War
-Chilly Conflict
Combining the above with the wake of the recent spat between Russia and Britain following the former's refusal to extradite Andrei Lugovoi, the man accused of murdering Alexander Litvenyenko and leaving a trail of radiation droppings around Britain like a pigeon from Chernobyl, and the growing tensions with the US ("If you get to park your missiles in Poland then I get to tear up this treaty!"), one could be forgiven for thinking we're headed for a follow-up to everyone's favourite cold war... The Cold War.
With this in mind, I'd like to suggest the following monickers for this conflict, should it escalate into such. These provisional titles have not been approved by Hollywood marketeers who understand which sounds are soothing to the collective public ear.
-Cold War 2: War Colder
-Cold War With A Vengeance
-Cold War 2: Electric Bugaloo
-Cold War II
-Cold War 2: Sub-Zero
-Live Free or Cold War
-Cold War 2: Absolute Zero
-George Dubya Bush and the War of Coldness
-Merchant Ivory's A Colde War
-Chilly Conflict
Wednesday 1 August 2007
The Bluffer's Guide To Sport
As part of the community service order imposed upon me for the recent indecent exposure incident (alas, my cries of "It wasn't my fault entirely, your Honour, those nuns kept egging me on" fell on deaf ears), I have been requested to write a short pamphlet that will benefit society in some manner. To this end, I have elected to write a brief bluffer's guide for my fellow homosexualists to help them understand some of the subtle nuances of the world of sport. When I say sport, I am not 
talking about the fields of competition with which my brothers may be familiar; such as figure-skating, PGACA (Professional Gossiping And Character Assassination), men's diving on Eurosport or shopping, but rather the more macho pursuits which we gays normally struggle with but may from time to time find ourselves having to discuss e.g. if trapped on a mysterious island where time moves at such a ponderously slow pace that all avenues of conversation need to be travelled for the sake of one's sanity. For the benefit of all who spend many a night sleeplessly worrying about ending up in such a situation, I present The Homosexualist Bluffer's Guide To Les Activités Sportives:
1. Tennis.
Tennis was invented in 1996 by Sir Reginald H. Tennis. Stars of the field include Andre Agassi, an Antipodean from Wales who played for his return from exile to the penal colonies of Australia in the 1998 Imperial Tennis Contest, wherein the prize awarded is the opportunity to seek a boon from the monarch him/herself. Alas, despite his conclusive victory, Agassi's unkempt appearance caused the Queen to balk, and she refused his request for freedom based on consultation with her advisors, who informed her that should she be seen to condone Agassi's choices regarding personal hygiene, the consequences for the realm would be most dire.
2. Cricket
Cricket is a game wherein Englishmen play to defeat some colonial plebs or something. You may be familiar with The Ashes, a cricketing event between Britain and Swaziland wherein the combatants play for the cremated remains of King Edward-Preston XIII. The Ashes are said to increase a man's libido seven-fold when injected into the right thigh as part of solution also containing egg white and meta-amphetamines. The competition was embroiled in controversy in 1987, when Lord Thoroughbred Dictum claimed that cricket's governing body, the International Cricketeering Association Of The World, routinely topped up the Ashes every forty years with cremated hobo remains. Lord Dictum failed to provide any substantial proof for his claims, which were dismissed by all when it was revealed he was an opium-fiend who had difficulty pleasuring his ladywife.
3. Basketball
This sport is essentially a jumping game where players attempt to take possession of a ball, made from highly condensed elastic bands wrapped into a sphere. The ultimate aim in this sport is to become so good at it that one is offered an endorsement deal with Nike or Ad
idas to the tune of several hundred million units of the American currency, known in the vernacular as the “Vespuccio” or occasionally, the “Dollar”. In exchange for a large quantity of Vespuccios, the sportsman agrees to lend his image and name to the International Sportswear Giant In Question, to sacrifice his first born, and to join Satan’s army in the time of the reckoning. The ISGIQ (pronounced “Is-Gweek”) recoups it’s investment by having it’s products manufactured by Indonesian Overtime Pixies, who happily work long hours for miserable wage rates because it is the wont of their species to do so.
4. Curling
This physically and mentally demanding sport remains something of a mystery to me, despite extensive research on the subject. However, I am confident in speculating that the purpose of the game is to match the position of the stars in certain constellations by sliding one’s stone-like object (known as a “stone” or “bit of granite”) along the ice, towards the t
arget area, and using the powers of one’s mind to stop it in the relevant position. One person on the team is deemed the “squirrel” and it is the squirrel’s duty to sweep any dust or minor obstructions out of the path of the bit of granite. This is due to curling’s origin among the Inuit people, who used it as a means to talk to the gods (specifically Makhatomet, goddess of bits of granite and contraception) and viewed the stone as a sacred object which had to be kept clean, hence the need to vigourously sweep the path before it.
5. Midget-Blasting
Midget-blasting is an extreme (or “Xtreme”) sport, similar to curling, except in place of a bit of granite, players slide a midget (or any available small person if no midgets are present) along the ice. In addition, in midget-blasting it is customary for the squirrel to smack the midget across the skull with the broom once he or she reaches the relevant position in the playing field, in order to prevent him getting up and ruining the arrangement the midgets are being slid into. It is thought that midget-blasting arose among atheist Inuit folk who still desired the adrenalin-rush of normal curling but needed to differentiate the activity from religious ceremony and into sporting activity.
talking about the fields of competition with which my brothers may be familiar; such as figure-skating, PGACA (Professional Gossiping And Character Assassination), men's diving on Eurosport or shopping, but rather the more macho pursuits which we gays normally struggle with but may from time to time find ourselves having to discuss e.g. if trapped on a mysterious island where time moves at such a ponderously slow pace that all avenues of conversation need to be travelled for the sake of one's sanity. For the benefit of all who spend many a night sleeplessly worrying about ending up in such a situation, I present The Homosexualist Bluffer's Guide To Les Activités Sportives:1. Tennis.
Tennis was invented in 1996 by Sir Reginald H. Tennis. Stars of the field include Andre Agassi, an Antipodean from Wales who played for his return from exile to the penal colonies of Australia in the 1998 Imperial Tennis Contest, wherein the prize awarded is the opportunity to seek a boon from the monarch him/herself. Alas, despite his conclusive victory, Agassi's unkempt appearance caused the Queen to balk, and she refused his request for freedom based on consultation with her advisors, who informed her that should she be seen to condone Agassi's choices regarding personal hygiene, the consequences for the realm would be most dire.
2. Cricket
Cricket is a game wherein Englishmen play to defeat some colonial plebs or something. You may be familiar with The Ashes, a cricketing event between Britain and Swaziland wherein the combatants play for the cremated remains of King Edward-Preston XIII. The Ashes are said to increase a man's libido seven-fold when injected into the right thigh as part of solution also containing egg white and meta-amphetamines. The competition was embroiled in controversy in 1987, when Lord Thoroughbred Dictum claimed that cricket's governing body, the International Cricketeering Association Of The World, routinely topped up the Ashes every forty years with cremated hobo remains. Lord Dictum failed to provide any substantial proof for his claims, which were dismissed by all when it was revealed he was an opium-fiend who had difficulty pleasuring his ladywife.
3. Basketball
This sport is essentially a jumping game where players attempt to take possession of a ball, made from highly condensed elastic bands wrapped into a sphere. The ultimate aim in this sport is to become so good at it that one is offered an endorsement deal with Nike or Ad
idas to the tune of several hundred million units of the American currency, known in the vernacular as the “Vespuccio” or occasionally, the “Dollar”. In exchange for a large quantity of Vespuccios, the sportsman agrees to lend his image and name to the International Sportswear Giant In Question, to sacrifice his first born, and to join Satan’s army in the time of the reckoning. The ISGIQ (pronounced “Is-Gweek”) recoups it’s investment by having it’s products manufactured by Indonesian Overtime Pixies, who happily work long hours for miserable wage rates because it is the wont of their species to do so.4. Curling
This physically and mentally demanding sport remains something of a mystery to me, despite extensive research on the subject. However, I am confident in speculating that the purpose of the game is to match the position of the stars in certain constellations by sliding one’s stone-like object (known as a “stone” or “bit of granite”) along the ice, towards the t
arget area, and using the powers of one’s mind to stop it in the relevant position. One person on the team is deemed the “squirrel” and it is the squirrel’s duty to sweep any dust or minor obstructions out of the path of the bit of granite. This is due to curling’s origin among the Inuit people, who used it as a means to talk to the gods (specifically Makhatomet, goddess of bits of granite and contraception) and viewed the stone as a sacred object which had to be kept clean, hence the need to vigourously sweep the path before it.5. Midget-Blasting
Midget-blasting is an extreme (or “Xtreme”) sport, similar to curling, except in place of a bit of granite, players slide a midget (or any available small person if no midgets are present) along the ice. In addition, in midget-blasting it is customary for the squirrel to smack the midget across the skull with the broom once he or she reaches the relevant position in the playing field, in order to prevent him getting up and ruining the arrangement the midgets are being slid into. It is thought that midget-blasting arose among atheist Inuit folk who still desired the adrenalin-rush of normal curling but needed to differentiate the activity from religious ceremony and into sporting activity.
Sunday 29 July 2007
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Reader's Digest Version
Presenting the entire BTVS saga (yep, in it's entirety. There was NO Seasons 6 and 7, dammit) as told through the medium of classified ads.
Buffy Season 1
Lonely British Gentleman seeks young lady for exciting evenings in front of dusty old tomes and general killing of the nasties.
Girl Next Door seeks new best friend.
Young lady seeks brooding undead beefcake for sexual tension and meaningful glances.
Teenaged Everyman, prone to self-deprecating humour, would like to meet something to hump.
Bitch seeks heart.
Decrepit centuries old vampiric scion of evil is seeking boy (8 - 12) for prophetic mutterings and prom night excursion.
Inactive Doorway to Hell for sale; preferably to vampiric scion of evil. One previous owner; sadly passed away following encounter with young lady.
Season 2
Lonely British Gentleman seeks outgoing computer science teacher. Gypsy origin a plus. NS.
Young lady wants romp with undead beefcake.
Undead beefcake seeks arteries.
Computer science teacher with gypsy origin seeks love and untimely demise.
Adventurous couple seek undead beefcake with appreciation of demonic stonework for late night shenanigans.
Girl Next Door seeks quirky boyfriend for walks in the moonlight.
Bitch With Heart seeks Everyman for clandestine gropings.
Everyman looking for something to hump.
Adventurous couple and undead beefcake seek end of the world.
Notice! End of the World cancelled due to untimely loss of undead beefcake and absconding of adventurous couple. Refunds available.
Season 3
Mayor Wilkins would like to thank the citizens of Sunnydale for their support in the recent mayoral campaign!
Girl Next Door seeks gradual empowerment.
Everyman seeks something to hump.
Bitch With Heart seeks rehash of redemptive storyline.
Bad Girl available for work as hired goon. Skilled in administering bodily harm, both actual & grievous, and wearing leather pants.
Undead beefcake, recently returned from the… undead, is looking for fresh start in new city following graduation.
Quirky boyfriend seeks storyline.
Young lady wishes to notify citizens of youth rally against proposed mayoral policy of destroying the world. May get bloody. Minor characters should not expect to survive.
Season 4
Abrupt ex-demoness looking for something to hump.
Everyman wishes to cancel standing order for classified ad.
Government initiative seeking volunters for exciting experiment. Contact UC Sunnydale's Dept. of Nothing Suspicious Going On Here, Please Move Along. We will provide the limbs.
Unemployed British Gentleman with spacious housing has room to offer. Undead British Gentlemen preferable.
Confident Girl Next Door offers subtext-laden talks for Unconfident Girl Next Door.
Young lady seeks plank, 6 foot 2 with boyband hair, for nailing and using power tools on.
One half of adventurous couple looking for anger-management and all the best lines.
Half demon/half man for sale. Comes with Windows XP, 80GB Hard Drive, 256 MB RAM, nVidia Matrix Rip-Off Graphics Card and all the software you need to run a total psychopath.
Season 5
For Sale: Death. Unwanted gift.
Airhead offers reward of brain-sucking for lost keys. May be in the form of snivelling brat/plot-device.
Abrupt ex-demoness looking for gradual appreciation of humanity.
Snivelling brat WLTM emo-kids for self-harming and general whingeing.
Confident Girl Next Door continues to grow in power. Seeks like-minded individuals for chanting in Latin.
Everyman and British gentleman seek plotline.
One half of adventurous couple seeks last hurrah before having his character watered down into shadow of former glory.
Obit. Young lady plunges head first off of shoddy scaffolding in lightning storm. She saved the world. A lot.
Buffy Season 1
Lonely British Gentleman seeks young lady for exciting evenings in front of dusty old tomes and general killing of the nasties.
Girl Next Door seeks new best friend.
Young lady seeks brooding undead beefcake for sexual tension and meaningful glances.
Teenaged Everyman, prone to self-deprecating humour, would like to meet something to hump.
Bitch seeks heart.
Decrepit centuries old vampiric scion of evil is seeking boy (8 - 12) for prophetic mutterings and prom night excursion.
Inactive Doorway to Hell for sale; preferably to vampiric scion of evil. One previous owner; sadly passed away following encounter with young lady.
Season 2
Lonely British Gentleman seeks outgoing computer science teacher. Gypsy origin a plus. NS.
Young lady wants romp with undead beefcake.
Undead beefcake seeks arteries.
Computer science teacher with gypsy origin seeks love and untimely demise.
Adventurous couple seek undead beefcake with appreciation of demonic stonework for late night shenanigans.
Girl Next Door seeks quirky boyfriend for walks in the moonlight.
Bitch With Heart seeks Everyman for clandestine gropings.
Everyman looking for something to hump.
Adventurous couple and undead beefcake seek end of the world.
Notice! End of the World cancelled due to untimely loss of undead beefcake and absconding of adventurous couple. Refunds available.
Season 3
Mayor Wilkins would like to thank the citizens of Sunnydale for their support in the recent mayoral campaign!
Girl Next Door seeks gradual empowerment.
Everyman seeks something to hump.
Bitch With Heart seeks rehash of redemptive storyline.
Bad Girl available for work as hired goon. Skilled in administering bodily harm, both actual & grievous, and wearing leather pants.
Undead beefcake, recently returned from the… undead, is looking for fresh start in new city following graduation.
Quirky boyfriend seeks storyline.
Young lady wishes to notify citizens of youth rally against proposed mayoral policy of destroying the world. May get bloody. Minor characters should not expect to survive.
Season 4
Abrupt ex-demoness looking for something to hump.
Everyman wishes to cancel standing order for classified ad.
Government initiative seeking volunters for exciting experiment. Contact UC Sunnydale's Dept. of Nothing Suspicious Going On Here, Please Move Along. We will provide the limbs.
Unemployed British Gentleman with spacious housing has room to offer. Undead British Gentlemen preferable.
Confident Girl Next Door offers subtext-laden talks for Unconfident Girl Next Door.
Young lady seeks plank, 6 foot 2 with boyband hair, for nailing and using power tools on.
One half of adventurous couple looking for anger-management and all the best lines.
Half demon/half man for sale. Comes with Windows XP, 80GB Hard Drive, 256 MB RAM, nVidia Matrix Rip-Off Graphics Card and all the software you need to run a total psychopath.
Season 5
For Sale: Death. Unwanted gift.
Airhead offers reward of brain-sucking for lost keys. May be in the form of snivelling brat/plot-device.
Abrupt ex-demoness looking for gradual appreciation of humanity.
Snivelling brat WLTM emo-kids for self-harming and general whingeing.
Confident Girl Next Door continues to grow in power. Seeks like-minded individuals for chanting in Latin.
Everyman and British gentleman seek plotline.
One half of adventurous couple seeks last hurrah before having his character watered down into shadow of former glory.
Obit. Young lady plunges head first off of shoddy scaffolding in lightning storm. She saved the world. A lot.
Friday 27 July 2007
Not the Nine O'Clock News
All the news of the past fortnight, for anyone who has been living under a rock. Or inter-railing.
In Britain, all they’ve really been reporting on is the fact that that the country is basically underwater. For the past
two weeks. This means that every news broadcast requires that the it place it’s reporters waist-deep in water while they ask a traumatised local if they think the flooding is connected to global warming. Unless you’re Sky News, in which case there’s no way in hell that Kay Burley is standing in flood water after what it’s close relative, The Ice, did to her last winter.
You’re fairly with it regarding the whole Russia/Britain diplomatic spat. While they say it’s been caused by Russia’s refusal to extradite the prime suspect in the Litvenyenko case (ALL things come back to Litvenyenko. For example, the flooding in Britain has been caused by a weather-control device he was sent to Britain to destroy.) the truth is that it all stems from a politico joking that “In Soviet Russia, diplomat expels you!”.
Also making the news repeatedly, Britain-wise, are a number of revelations about TV phone-in/texting competition irregularities, including an awards show on ITV where the public were asked to vote for the winner despite the fact it’d already been chosen (Ant & Dec are said to devastated that the meaning inherent in the first two words of People’s Choice Award are pretty moot as a result), and a number of incidents on the BBC where they used production staff to pretend to be the winners of various competitions. No one has yet answered the question of just what happened with the prizes in these competitions following the fake victories.
On this side of the Irish sea, the three most noteworthy stories have been, in no particular order:
-Bertie and his financial affairs, a matter that no amount of investigators will ever
reach the bottom of considering that Mister Ahern’s mentor was one Charles J. Haughey. The man at the top certainly learned from the best when it comes to financial obfuscation and inexplicable memory-loss.
-The Rachel O’Reilly murder case, which caused shockwaves around the country when justice was actually served (despite the trial nearly collapsing at one point when some idiot left documents the jury weren’t meant to see in a room used by the jury) and the murdering bastard got life (i.e. a minimum of 30 years).
-The Rostas family, a clan of over fifty Romanian gyppos, who came over here, not to take our jobs and our wimmen, like most foreigners, but to take our roundabouts. Having set up camp at the Ballymun rang-dabaht (as AA Roadwatch would probably pronounce it) in Dublin, they were deported earlier this week when the Government realised that we had to take tough and decisive action to show these gaijin devils that we will not tolerate the colonisation of our roundabouts. Clearly, we have learned our lesson from the plantations.
Other news in brief:
Plastic bags now cost 22c, cannabis makes you a lot more likely to be psychotic and/or schizophrenic, some twonk at Nasa attempted to sabotage a shuttle for reasons unkown, Jordan has named h
er new child Princess Tiamii, the Americans dislike Victoria Beckham as much as we do but they kinda like David, phone-masts don’t give you psychic powers OR brain tumours, JK Rowling has begun work on Something New That Is Not Harry Potter, MySpace has purged 29,000 sex offenders from it’s site yet still refuses to do anything about the far worse problem of the emo-kids writing bad poetry and taking pictures of themselves pouting with their eyes obscured by chemically straightened fringes, everyone taking part in the Tour de France is a dope-fiend, the new Mr. Spock is REALLY hot (and a former Hero of the Week to boot), aaaaaaaand President Bush handed power over to Cheney last weekend while he got his ass probed. Again.
In Britain, all they’ve really been reporting on is the fact that that the country is basically underwater. For the past
two weeks. This means that every news broadcast requires that the it place it’s reporters waist-deep in water while they ask a traumatised local if they think the flooding is connected to global warming. Unless you’re Sky News, in which case there’s no way in hell that Kay Burley is standing in flood water after what it’s close relative, The Ice, did to her last winter.You’re fairly with it regarding the whole Russia/Britain diplomatic spat. While they say it’s been caused by Russia’s refusal to extradite the prime suspect in the Litvenyenko case (ALL things come back to Litvenyenko. For example, the flooding in Britain has been caused by a weather-control device he was sent to Britain to destroy.) the truth is that it all stems from a politico joking that “In Soviet Russia, diplomat expels you!”.
Also making the news repeatedly, Britain-wise, are a number of revelations about TV phone-in/texting competition irregularities, including an awards show on ITV where the public were asked to vote for the winner despite the fact it’d already been chosen (Ant & Dec are said to devastated that the meaning inherent in the first two words of People’s Choice Award are pretty moot as a result), and a number of incidents on the BBC where they used production staff to pretend to be the winners of various competitions. No one has yet answered the question of just what happened with the prizes in these competitions following the fake victories.
On this side of the Irish sea, the three most noteworthy stories have been, in no particular order:
-Bertie and his financial affairs, a matter that no amount of investigators will ever
reach the bottom of considering that Mister Ahern’s mentor was one Charles J. Haughey. The man at the top certainly learned from the best when it comes to financial obfuscation and inexplicable memory-loss.-The Rachel O’Reilly murder case, which caused shockwaves around the country when justice was actually served (despite the trial nearly collapsing at one point when some idiot left documents the jury weren’t meant to see in a room used by the jury) and the murdering bastard got life (i.e. a minimum of 30 years).
-The Rostas family, a clan of over fifty Romanian gyppos, who came over here, not to take our jobs and our wimmen, like most foreigners, but to take our roundabouts. Having set up camp at the Ballymun rang-dabaht (as AA Roadwatch would probably pronounce it) in Dublin, they were deported earlier this week when the Government realised that we had to take tough and decisive action to show these gaijin devils that we will not tolerate the colonisation of our roundabouts. Clearly, we have learned our lesson from the plantations.
Other news in brief:
Plastic bags now cost 22c, cannabis makes you a lot more likely to be psychotic and/or schizophrenic, some twonk at Nasa attempted to sabotage a shuttle for reasons unkown, Jordan has named h
er new child Princess Tiamii, the Americans dislike Victoria Beckham as much as we do but they kinda like David, phone-masts don’t give you psychic powers OR brain tumours, JK Rowling has begun work on Something New That Is Not Harry Potter, MySpace has purged 29,000 sex offenders from it’s site yet still refuses to do anything about the far worse problem of the emo-kids writing bad poetry and taking pictures of themselves pouting with their eyes obscured by chemically straightened fringes, everyone taking part in the Tour de France is a dope-fiend, the new Mr. Spock is REALLY hot (and a former Hero of the Week to boot), aaaaaaaand President Bush handed power over to Cheney last weekend while he got his ass probed. Again.
Thursday 26 July 2007
Final Fantasy VII: The Reader's Digest Version
A witless but mega-quick meandering through a convoluted plot.
Hippies blow up reactor. One of them gets a headache.
The reactor's owner's don't take kindly to this and frame our heroes for larger, more violent act. Following a spot of cross-dressing, our Noble Hero Clueless Cloud leads Big Bear Barret, Tigger, Tits & Ass Tifa and Aeris (not Aerith, because I'm not hardcore enough to spell it Japanese style) past the walls of Midgar in search of life, love and Sephiroth. Also to get away from the Shinra nasties who want to get their mits on There's No 'S' In Aerith. (But there is in Aerisu, if you're totally hardcare fanboi x) And the tax people who want to speak to T&A Tifa about her bars so-called accounts.
Crossdressing Cloud continues to indulge in activities that raise questions about his sexuality, while suffering from headaches. The gang are joined by A Large Stuffed Cat, the definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold, Yuffie Powers: Girl Thief and Vincent in their fight against mutated non-lewd Jenova bits. There's No 'S' In Aerith, whose physical abilities aren't worth shit, has passive limit breaks and likes flowers, sushi and gentle lovers, thinks it'd be a great idea to run off on her own to cast the spell needed to stop Sephiroth, who by this stage has summoned a large meteor to make the world go smash. She gets a sword through her belly for her troubles. Frankly, it's deserved. Also: Her scrunchie falls into some water. Fanboys weep. Because Not!Aerith died. Not because of the scrunchie in the water thing. Though that'll be important later, so it falls in slow motion.
Crossdressing Cloud goes off to stab Sephiroth, then changes his mind and decides to join the Jenova Reunion, because there's going to be cocktail suasages and the unveiling of a collage. T&A Tifa has a nap, and when she wakes up the planet is being stomped on by Diamond Kong and OMEGA Hulk. Following a catfight, T&A discovers Crossdressing Cloud's come over catatonic and stays by his bedside because she likes the look of the magazines in the doctor's surgery at Mideel.
The definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold leads the others on the hunt for Huge Materia. If Materia are magic then Huge Materia are VERY Magic and can be used to blow shit up. Like the massive meteor Sephiroth invited to Jenova's party. The definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold fails utterly, but never fear, T&A is here to save the day. God help us. She ventures into Comatose Cloud's brain, and their combined intelligence, comparable to that of a gnat, is enough to uncover Cloud's Terrible Secret™. Which, surprisingly, doesn't involve any sort of revelation about his sex life.
After he's come out, Complete Cloud leads the others in an assault aimed at removing Sephiroth so Not!Aerith's Super Scrunchie Spell can blow shit up. Sephiroth gets creamed, the gang share some fuzzy happy moments and wait for Not!Aerith's spell to pass judgement on them all. Considering Cloud's crossdressing, Big Bear Barret's chronic neglect of his daughter, T&A Tifa's crimes against fashion (and her account-keeping improprieties), Yuffie's thievery and the fact that Cid gave a Fall Out Boy album five stars on Amazon, it's no surprise that There's No 'S' In Aerith's spell not only blows Meteor up, but takes all humanity with it, leaving Tigger free to roam the plains of the future without worrying his pups will hump someone's leg and have his membership of the Junon Yachting Club suspended.
Finally, that's where it ends, folks. There definitely wasn't a film where Cloud went Emo, or a roaming shooter with Vincent, or myriad novels or mobile-phone games starring the Turks. Nope, definitely not. Because the people at Squeenix care about their creations and the integrity of their art, and they wouldn't tear apart the simple, brutal majesty of the ending to FFVII solely to make a buck or three. If you were led to believe otherwise... well, just dismiss it as a fantasy.
Hippies blow up reactor. One of them gets a headache.
The reactor's owner's don't take kindly to this and frame our heroes for larger, more violent act. Following a spot of cross-dressing, our Noble Hero Clueless Cloud leads Big Bear Barret, Tigger, Tits & Ass Tifa and Aeris (not Aerith, because I'm not hardcore enough to spell it Japanese style) past the walls of Midgar in search of life, love and Sephiroth. Also to get away from the Shinra nasties who want to get their mits on There's No 'S' In Aerith. (But there is in Aerisu, if you're totally hardcare fanboi x) And the tax people who want to speak to T&A Tifa about her bars so-called accounts.
Crossdressing Cloud continues to indulge in activities that raise questions about his sexuality, while suffering from headaches. The gang are joined by A Large Stuffed Cat, the definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold, Yuffie Powers: Girl Thief and Vincent in their fight against mutated non-lewd Jenova bits. There's No 'S' In Aerith, whose physical abilities aren't worth shit, has passive limit breaks and likes flowers, sushi and gentle lovers, thinks it'd be a great idea to run off on her own to cast the spell needed to stop Sephiroth, who by this stage has summoned a large meteor to make the world go smash. She gets a sword through her belly for her troubles. Frankly, it's deserved. Also: Her scrunchie falls into some water. Fanboys weep. Because Not!Aerith died. Not because of the scrunchie in the water thing. Though that'll be important later, so it falls in slow motion.
Crossdressing Cloud goes off to stab Sephiroth, then changes his mind and decides to join the Jenova Reunion, because there's going to be cocktail suasages and the unveiling of a collage. T&A Tifa has a nap, and when she wakes up the planet is being stomped on by Diamond Kong and OMEGA Hulk. Following a catfight, T&A discovers Crossdressing Cloud's come over catatonic and stays by his bedside because she likes the look of the magazines in the doctor's surgery at Mideel.
The definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold leads the others on the hunt for Huge Materia. If Materia are magic then Huge Materia are VERY Magic and can be used to blow shit up. Like the massive meteor Sephiroth invited to Jenova's party. The definition of gruff man with a hard exterior but a heart of gold fails utterly, but never fear, T&A is here to save the day. God help us. She ventures into Comatose Cloud's brain, and their combined intelligence, comparable to that of a gnat, is enough to uncover Cloud's Terrible Secret™. Which, surprisingly, doesn't involve any sort of revelation about his sex life.
After he's come out, Complete Cloud leads the others in an assault aimed at removing Sephiroth so Not!Aerith's Super Scrunchie Spell can blow shit up. Sephiroth gets creamed, the gang share some fuzzy happy moments and wait for Not!Aerith's spell to pass judgement on them all. Considering Cloud's crossdressing, Big Bear Barret's chronic neglect of his daughter, T&A Tifa's crimes against fashion (and her account-keeping improprieties), Yuffie's thievery and the fact that Cid gave a Fall Out Boy album five stars on Amazon, it's no surprise that There's No 'S' In Aerith's spell not only blows Meteor up, but takes all humanity with it, leaving Tigger free to roam the plains of the future without worrying his pups will hump someone's leg and have his membership of the Junon Yachting Club suspended.
Finally, that's where it ends, folks. There definitely wasn't a film where Cloud went Emo, or a roaming shooter with Vincent, or myriad novels or mobile-phone games starring the Turks. Nope, definitely not. Because the people at Squeenix care about their creations and the integrity of their art, and they wouldn't tear apart the simple, brutal majesty of the ending to FFVII solely to make a buck or three. If you were led to believe otherwise... well, just dismiss it as a fantasy.
Tuesday 24 July 2007
Ponder Ponder Ponder
I just noticed the subtitle Brian has ascribed this blog; Politics, Philosophy, Random Rants and Musings.
I can't help but ponder exactly which of these categories the posts I've made below fall under...
Perhaps I should shove in a new category to better describe the textual froth I produce.
Edited to Add:
There, much better.
Worry not, Brian, you can change it back when you return :P
I can't help but ponder exactly which of these categories the posts I've made below fall under...
Perhaps I should shove in a new category to better describe the textual froth I produce.
Edited to Add:
There, much better.
Worry not, Brian, you can change it back when you return :P
A Final Solution, Paris Hilton's Prison Diary
June 26, 2007My dearest diary,
My time in prison has reached it’s end, yet I find myself consumed by remorse rather than relief, for my last hours in the Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies were marred by a set of exceptional circumstances which forced me to compromise the pious morality for which I am famed and betray friends most dear, all in the name of freedom.
It began when Bulldog Baker stepped up her campaign of intimidation. My nerves were already shattered from the stresses of keeping Donatella’s presence a secret, a task not helped by Daisy’s rampant stupidity. I lost count of the number of times she almost let slip the presence of our guest, and consequently, of the amount of times I was required to slap her across the face in an effort to beat some sense into the lass. Baker observed some of these beatings, and made comments of a lewd nature inspired by them, implying I was some sort of debased sexual deviant into all manner of violent kink. I will not repeat the fetishes she accused me of subscribing to, aside from noting that I was shocked to discover a human female was capable of doing the things she mentioned in a golf car with an ostrich, while upside-down. As she continued her lecherous spiel, she began rubbing her baton so vigourously as to leave it gleaming as though t’were brand new. After she clocked out on Sunday afternoon, she paused at my table in the food hall, where I was trying to enjoy a low-fat plain yoghurt while Daisy waffled on about Cold Mountain, winked lasciviously at me, and told me she looked forward to seeing me in my night-clothes the following evening, when she began a month on night-shift. I was filled with despair. I knew this woman intended to intrude upon my maidenhead with her shiny, ebon baton and cold, groping hands. I took to my bed and cried myself to sleep. But morning came, and with it, salvation.
You must recall how my friend Nicole Ritchie vanished in the scuffle that saw Donatella accidentily imprisoned. As the sun rose, I caught sight of something sliding into the cell from unde
rneath the door. I dismissed it as a pamphlet or a newsletter, but realising the absurdity of this, got up to inspect the object. I was shocked to discover it was Nicole, squeezing her 24lb frame through the door. I helped her through, we embraced, and then she began tearfully telling me of the escapades she had endured to avoid detection in the prison, including repeatedly turning sideways and having to hide between the pages of a pornographic magazine. Nicole is a self-obsessed creature that never tires of discussing her own trivial trials and tribulations, and I interrupted her to explain the situation I found myself in, mere hours from being intimately introduced to a night-stick. Donatella and Daisy awoke, and together, the four of us formulated a bold escape plan.Alas, it seems that the escape plan was lifted directly from a popular TV series called Prison Break, which I guess is what happens when you let three people with the combined mental abilities of a pomegranate concoct your scheme. Baker herself caught us in the act in the early hour of Tuesday morning. She reveled in the moment, and made it quite clear that the only way we were getting back to our cells was if I submitted myself to a thorough cavity search. With freedom so close, yet so far, and the prospect of having my body defiled so, I simply snapped. I shouted at Daisy, telling her that Donatella was the reason that Renee Zellweger’s seven-month marriage to Kenny Chesney failed. Daisy exploded, hurling herself at Donatella with cries of “Home-wrecker!” and such. Baker was distracted by the violent catfight, as I had predicted, and I used this to my advantage. I grabbed Nicole and stabbed Baker with her razor-thin shoulder blades. It was quick, and it was fatal. Alas, the impact reverberated through Nicole, and she too perished as her anorexia-induced osteoporosis led her bones to crumble. As she lay on the ground, a crumpled heap of skin barely resembling a human, she seemed to mutter “Et tu, Paris?” before giving up the ghost. At this point, Donatella and Daisy had done one another in, the latter gouging out the former’s eyes with her thumbs, while the former choked Daisy to death by wrapping her hair around her neck. I took in the scene for a moment, shocked at what my own rage had led to. I reasoned that no one could ever prove I was involved in the violent incident involving Baker, prisoner Daisy and what authorities speculated were a blonde velocirapter and a goomba from Super Mario Bros. So, I returned to my cell, picked up my copy of War and Peace, and waited for the ‘morrow, and freedom, safe in the knowledge that my lulu would remain unviolated.
-Paris Hilton, The Hilton Estate
Monday 23 July 2007
Mein Kampf: Paris Hilton's Prison Diary, Day 14
June 18th 2007Dear Diary,
I can scarcely believe that it has been two whole weeks since I began my incarceration (aside from my brief sojourn to the outside world). The hours seem to be passing by so quickly one moment, and then the next it slows to a tedious crawl, as the mundane regimentation of prison life threatens to overwhelm one’s persona and destroy the sense of self through the constraining effect prison has on the sphere of activities we all need to engage in to maintain the necessary aspects of being. Nevertheless, things have improved greatly in the past few days, due to a convoluted set of events I shall attempt to explain to you, my dearest diary.
It all began when visiting hour arrived on Friday. My good friends Nicole Ritchie and Donatella Versace were paying me a visit. Donatella looked fabulous, clad in a daring summer ensemble of turquoise thon
g and bejewelled cleavage-hugging bikini top that offset her healthy tangerine complexion beautifully. Nicole was a marked and appalling contrast. Without me by her side to serve as her thinspiration, she has gained two and a half pounds, putting on so much weight that she has even begun menstruating for the first time in two years. She broke down into tears, and despite my efforts, failed to mustre a smile for the duration of the visit.My friends regaled me with tales of the LA early summer party season, and for a brief and glorious moment I felt as though I were free, cavorting in the midst of a mass of beautiful people at a premiere after-party, arms lifted skyward as I shook my hair from side to side with not a care that was ever known to man, challenging the world to join me on the peak of human experience. I came crashing back to reality, however, when a loud alarm rang out as my friends were heading for the exit and Donatella was suddenly set-upon by a mob of guards. There was a terrible confusion at the time, but it seems that the guards mistook Donatella’s leathery orange hide for regulation prison clothing… those horrible orange jumpsuits that I, mercifully, do not have to wear, thanks to a note from my physician detailing the needs of my sensitive skin. Before the guards could be told of their mistake, they had already leapt upon Donatella, sending her sprawling to the ground as a small plastic bag (containing what she insists was medicinal cocaine) went spinning from betwixt her cleavage and out onto the pale concrete floor for all to see.
In the scuffle, Nicole vanished, and as of yet I have no idea where she disappeared to. I would phone to enquire, but I used my daily call to finalise a deal with a newspaper to serialise my prison diary. Not this compendium of my innermost thoughts, but rather a cleaner and more sympathetic version compiled by my public relations guru Monique Sikozu-Wong. But I digress.
Using the quick wits that I am famed for, I managed to manipulate the guards into thinking that Donatella was a pre-existing prisoner, Donna “The Dealer” Duggan, a hero
in fixer-upper with a penchant for pulling off her enemies’ fingernails with pliers, thus saving Donatella the embarrassment of a very public court action. Of course, this now means that Ms. Duggan will have her sentence extended for a misdemeanour not of her own doing, but I think I can live with the moral grey area this leaves me in by telling myself society is a better place with her behind bars. Donatella is currently hiding in my cell until we can find a way to smuggle her out of here. She has taken Daisy’s bed, and Daisy now sleeps on the floor; something she became enthusiastic about when I lied and told her that Renee Zellweger sleeps in that fashion to improve her posture. I hope the woman doesn’t discover I’ve never actually spoken to Renee Zellweger.I expect the next few days to be devoid of the tedium I mentioned in the opening of this entry, as I plot my dear friend’s prison break. I wholeheartedly hope no one gets shot.
-Paris Hiltion, Imprisoned Heiress,
SoCal Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies
Mein Kampf: Paris Hilton's Prison Diary, Day 9
June 13th 2007Dear Diary,
What a tumultuous few days it has been. I shall endeavour to recount everything that has happened in the past week, but my head is still spinning from it all, and I may forget minor details.
It all began, as whirlwind events are wont to, with a simple misunderstanding. Upon receiving my first meal in prison I, naturally enough, presumed that it was only the first of four to five courses. Based on the presumption, that further courses would follow, I ate only the barest smidgeon of the unappetising meal laid in front of me, hoping for something with a little more piquance to come, and did my best not to look too disgusted as I observed Daisy gorge her already blo
ated 60lb frame on the colourful assemblage of pulses and entrails. (A digression: I cannot help but ponder why I have taken to writing in UK English. Most perplexing.) When further courses failed to materialise, I briefly pondered making an enquiry into what had happened (Daisy was at this point asleep, thanks in no small part to my smacking her across the side of the head with my copy of Dostoyevsky until she slipped into unconsciousness, all the better for me to concentrate on the Russian literary master’s opus) until I decided it was best not to rock the boat, particularly with Bulldog Baker’s interest in me weighing heavily on my mind. Ms. Bulldog persists in her antics; she has been blowing kisses in an attempt to unnerve me and continues to make lewd gestures with her baton. I refuse to rise to the bait, and maintain stoic indifference in the face of her provocation. I may not be British, but I greatly admire the stiff upper lip approach to dealing with one’s adversaries, and I shall continue to emulate Winston Churchill et al in my dealings with Baker. But I digress, and return to the matter of recent events.The day after the incident with the meal, I again found myself presented with a less than inspired choice of appertif, and again refused to partake of it. Afterwards, I was less than amused when further courses were not forthcoming once more, and asked Daisy (who was maintaining a pleasant silence for fear of receiving another battering) if the service was always so inconsistent and poor. I was shocked to learn that when in prison, one receives only one meal, and realised that my ignorance had cost me two days worth of necessary nutrients and nourishment. Alas, my behaviour was interpreted as a refusal to eat by the powers that be, who immediately acted in my best interests and arranged for my release into house arrest, where it was felt my frame of mind would become more amiable and that I would begin eating again. I found myself caught up in the maelstrom of events; before I knew what was happening, I was at home, and even before I had time to settle back into my routine and become accustomed to my newly fitted anklet monitoring device, I was back in prison again.
It has all been rather disorienting, but I am glad the matter has been resolved. I do find it rather bothersome when my schedule is in flux, and now that I know I will be serving my time in prison, I am content to do so. I have been returned to the cell I shared with Daisy. She seemed unhappy with my return, and cowered in fear in a corner for several minutes until, feeling sorry for her, my conscience got the better of me and I shared an anecdote concerning her idol Renee Zellweger and a Burmese long-haired shrew. This proved to be something of a mistake, as she has been nattering without end about her plans to adopt one of her own, name it Renee and enter it in rodent beauty pageant. It seems likely that I shall have to resort to binding and gagging her yet again, but for now I am just too tired. Nichole and Donatella visit tomorrow, and I hope to update my diary of prison life with whatever tales they bring from the showbiz circuit. And if Donatella can sneak in some cocaine, I might be able to purchase favour with some of the guards.
-Paris Hilton
SoCal Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies
Mein Kampf: Paris Hilton's Prison Diary, Day 1
June 4th 2007Dear Diary,
Today I surrendered myself to the State of California and began the sentence that was handed to me after a most egregious miscarriage of justice on the part of a deluded arbiter of justice who for some puzzling reason thought it was in the public interest to see me imprisoned for a bit of harmless speeding. My attorney's plea that I was late for a manicure seemingly fell on deaf ears. Judging by the judge's appearance -- the last time she saw a hairbrush was when Adam was knee-high to a grasshopper -- it's clear in retrospect that expecting her to understand the importance of looking one's best, of which perfectly sculpted and coloured nails are an essential aspect, was the incorrect approach. Said attorney was duly dismissed from the Hilton Legal Team in the wake of the verdict, and has been replaced with a more expensive and therefore better member of the bar.
My cell-mate is a chatty and coquettish young lady named Daisy who makes constant queries into the finer points of la vie celebrité. She seems to have an unhealthy interest in the career and life of chipmunk/human hybrid Renee Zellweger. I soon tired of her loquaciousness regarding the soft-spoken Ms. Zellweger, and enacted a fiendish scheme wherein I tied her to a chair using the bedclothes and stuffed a pillow case into her mouth. Peace, thy name is silence. I sat down to bury my head in a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, when the harsh screech of an electronic bell resonated throughout the complex, informing the inmates and I that lunch time had arrived. I released Daisy from her restraints and we joined a procession of dolorous delinquents. Upon arriving at the cafeteria, I was the subject of a traditional prison initiation ritual wherein my peers threw faeces at me until I rather resembled Grendel’s mother emerging from the swamp. They were shockingly accurate in their pitches, and the sound of their chatter -- of which one of the most common utterances was “Fresh Fish”, the meaning of which I must admit to being ignorant of -- was defeaning. Reader, I think they must like me.
The same could not be said of a certain member of staff, Beatrice “Bulldog” Baker. An hirsute woman with a slightly off-centre glass eye, I admit to being slightly perturbed by the looks she regarded me wit
h, and I was similarly affected by the manner in which she mimed certain actions with her baton when she knew I was looking. I believe it was a reference to an incident during that turbulent period when the sordid details of my personal life were released onto the world wide web, to my immediate consternation and embarrassment. If such behaviour continues, I shall have to confront this Beatrice Baker, and if she does not offer an apology and remedy her behaviour accordingly, I may approach her seniors and make an official complaint.All in all, my first day of incarceration has flown by rather nicely. If the rest of my sentence proceeds with the same perception of haste, I shall be most pleased. Tomorrow is visiting day and I look forward to seeing my sister. I believe Donatella Versace is also dropping by to see how I’m doing. There are difficulties to come… I admit that I’m not relishing the prospect of showering with 24 other women, Daisy isn’t exactly the most intellectually stimulating company, the food is merely passable and there’s also the matter of the aforementioned Bulldog Baker, but ultimately I think I’ll enjoy my 3 weeks freedom from the relentless pursuit of intrusive paparazzi and the chance to catch up on my correspondence.
-Paris Hilton
SoCal Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies
Greetings, Alien Visitors of Tomorrow
Hello gentle readerfolk, and welcome to a quick introductory aside from your temporary host, Jonathan. Yes, Brian's off waltzing about the continent attacking pigeons and raising an army with which to wage lightning-war on Luxemburg and in his absence, I've been tasked with updating his blog. If you look at the nice picture of His Prettiness there at the right, you can see my Hat of Awesomeness, also referred to as "A Lovely Tea-Cosy" by a classy lady who stuck her considerably large head out of the window of a car driving past Brian and I as we left the cinema following Harry Potter and the Muggle Muggle Voldefahlala specifically to call it so.
There's no real reason why I should be doing this, as it's not like the blog was on a schedule of regular updates that the author would like to adhere to while he's gone, but I have plenty of mildly diverting missives I can paste, some of which might even raise a brief "Heh", causing the reader to ponder "Did I just chortle or was it just my breath catching?". Plus, my ego simply couldn't resist the urge to show my meanderings on popular culture (or, in the case of the Paris Hilton blog I'll be pasting, last month's pop culture) to Brian's sizeable audience.
So, for the duration of my tenure in charge of updating, one can expect things to take a sudden and abrupt turn towards lowculture. There shall be no considerations of atheism or essays on purpose and function, because I'm blonde and a faggot and my skill, if one can call it such, lies in ridiculing the ridiculous. Like Paris Hilton. And Scooby Doo. And L. Ron Hubbard. And therein, perhaps, lies the secret of why Brian asked me to contribute in his absence: his writing is going to look so good and so very intellectual in comparison when he returns, heh.I'd like to think that in a few millenia, after the planet has reached sentience and destroyed mankind for inflicting so much damage upon her, an alien race will find our world and interrogate our digital archive. They'll investigate the life of famed author Brian Carey (well, THEY won't, rather an alien phd student doing a thesis on early 21st century Terran fantasy novelists will) and conclude, using a series of slanderous articles in The National Enquirer and these particular entries of mine as evidence, that Brian actually wrote the blogthings I am going to be responsible for, and that the abrupt change of style was a symptom of the latent schizophrenia that would emerge spectacularly when he reached his thirties and led him to declare himself "Pope of the World" before murdering a bus full of elderly passengers on their way back from Knock in what Sky News described as "Breaking News".
On with the show!
Wednesday 4 July 2007
We apologise for the break in transmission, please bear with us.
Right so it has taken me a month to update this blog, which is not completely due to laziness to be fair. I've been busy trying to justify not working for the summer by getting down to actually writing the book I've been planning for over five years now. In any case, I'm off to Europe (the mainland that is) in about two weeks to see lots of places and hopefully not get lost/robbed/gay-bashed/all of the above.
However, I plan on giving control of the blog to my boyfriend Jonathan so that he may amuse my multitude of non-existent readers with his wit and charm etc.
To be honest, his ramblings are much more entertaining to read than anything I would be capable of so enjoy it while you can. If I am persuasive enough I'll make him stay full-time and share blogging duties with me. In the mean time, check out what those crazy Poles are doing below...
However, I plan on giving control of the blog to my boyfriend Jonathan so that he may amuse my multitude of non-existent readers with his wit and charm etc.
To be honest, his ramblings are much more entertaining to read than anything I would be capable of so enjoy it while you can. If I am persuasive enough I'll make him stay full-time and share blogging duties with me. In the mean time, check out what those crazy Poles are doing below...
Seriously, what’s up with Poland?
I’m travelling to Poland in a few weeks, to Krakow and to see Auschwitz. It’s ironic that the most infamous of concentration camps (which interred homosexuals as well as Jews) is located on the soil of such an apparently intolerant nation. Even the most stalwart opponents of homosexuality/gay marriage etc. must surely find these reports both alarming and absurd:
"The homosexual man can be recognised by his handbag, purple skin, and a large silver screen in his stomach which emits pictures of children being indoctrinated into the homosexual lifestyle." - The Guide To Gays, Polish Edition
Don't believe me? Click here.
Yes, it’s right there in the Official Gay Agenda ™, Phase 3 - Operation Teletubby
But much more disturbing:
Gay Poles head for UK to escape state crackdown
“Polish police have also been compiling a database on gays and the gay community in Poland which, although illegal under EU law, is apparently being done as part of a police investigation into a bomb threat two years ago by a gay man. He had reportedly identified himself as a member of the gay community who was angry when a gay rights march was banned in Warsaw. 'The police are not allowed to catalogue "homosexual data", but it's enough to look into the police investigation associated with the bomb in order to establish a list of names and addresses,' said Ewa Kulesza, a former personal data protection general inspector.”
(Read more here.)
(Pictured right, the Kaczynsci twins, paradigms of Polish heterosexuality.)
“the European parliament has denounced the Polish government for a supposed increase in “racist, xenophobic, anti-Semitic and homophobic intolerance.””
“As part of their efforts to “clean up” Poland, “Law and Justice” have resurrected and promoted both anti-semitic and homophobic ideas. The Kaczynsci brothers are currently proposing legislation that would allow teachers who “promote homosexuality” to be dismissed. In so doing they have opened up a space where extreme nationalists, neo-fascists and reactionary religious elements wield some power. These elements are keen to exploit and perpetuate bigotry.”
More here.
"The homosexual man can be recognised by his handbag, purple skin, and a large silver screen in his stomach which emits pictures of children being indoctrinated into the homosexual lifestyle." - The Guide To Gays, Polish Edition
Don't believe me? Click here.
Yes, it’s right there in the Official Gay Agenda ™, Phase 3 - Operation Teletubby
But much more disturbing:
Gay Poles head for UK to escape state crackdown
“Polish police have also been compiling a database on gays and the gay community in Poland which, although illegal under EU law, is apparently being done as part of a police investigation into a bomb threat two years ago by a gay man. He had reportedly identified himself as a member of the gay community who was angry when a gay rights march was banned in Warsaw. 'The police are not allowed to catalogue "homosexual data", but it's enough to look into the police investigation associated with the bomb in order to establish a list of names and addresses,' said Ewa Kulesza, a former personal data protection general inspector.”
(Read more here.)
(Pictured right, the Kaczynsci twins, paradigms of Polish heterosexuality.)
“the European parliament has denounced the Polish government for a supposed increase in “racist, xenophobic, anti-Semitic and homophobic intolerance.””
“As part of their efforts to “clean up” Poland, “Law and Justice” have resurrected and promoted both anti-semitic and homophobic ideas. The Kaczynsci brothers are currently proposing legislation that would allow teachers who “promote homosexuality” to be dismissed. In so doing they have opened up a space where extreme nationalists, neo-fascists and reactionary religious elements wield some power. These elements are keen to exploit and perpetuate bigotry.”
More here.
Tuesday 5 June 2007
A rebuttal...
In responce to this: http://www.ex-atheist.com/6.html
The author’s descent into apathy/disillusionment with life is not a necessary consequent of embracing logic.
That she felt the need to attach some sort of cosmic significance to her life and actions, beyond embracing them for their own sake, probably says more about the pessimism inherent in religious belief than belief in logic and rationality. The notion that her life, the observable universe, is not beautiful enough, that there *must* be something ‘greater’ than that which we see, is not necessary to experience compassion, altruism and joy in one’s existence. The author is correct however in that science does not provide a moral code which religion does. Science merely tells us what probably is, not what ought to be.
For morality, one turns to philosophy (as she did at this point in the story) or religion.
She says that she tries Sartre and others and decides that “they were full of crap”. Why? This is an entirely arbitrary decision in this context which lacks any supporting evidence beyond the assertion that if something does not have a pre-defined essence, it can never have meaning.
Sartre’s philosophy of existentialism for example actually contains one of the most inspiring and optimistic outlooks on life. According to Sartre, being free from a pre-defined purpose means that we have almost unlimited potential to be whatever we wish to be.
The author makes a huge assumption - that moral relativism is a necessary consequent of a solely rationalistic outlook. This is blatantly untrue, in both a rationalistic ( as demonstrated with different results by Kant’s categorical Imperative and Mill’s Utilitarian philosophies ) outlook, and a mechanistic (Hobbes) view amongst others.
So the author turns against Christianity. Understandable given he lives in a country where the vast majority are adherents to what is ultimately an illogical faith. This is not a slight against believers, but a truth. The rationalist thinker cannot entertain the notion of faith which they seem to possess and with this removed, the belief becomes irrational, if understandable.
That the author found flaws in her own logic is indicative of a flaw in the author’s logic, rather than logic itself and demonstrates the flexibility of the rationalist perspective - that if a flaw is found, the view can be re-examined and a better conclusion arrived at. Not so with religious dogma.
There is some ironic foreshadowing at this point where the author wonders if “they (believers) so desperately want there to be a God that they had deluded themselves into thinking that there was one?”. This seems to be precisely the road she herself is on, given her inability to reconcile her view of reality, with atheistic philosophies.
So she beings to look again at the bible. The objections she raises and her reasons for discarding them seem particularly week. She finds an action of God morally objectionable (which presumably is impossible given her alleged moral relativism) and then dismisses this because “God made it, he must know what he’s doing” (my interpretation, not a direct quote).
The moment of revelation as described by the author is, understandably, baffling to a rationalist thinker.
The author doesn’t actually say what it was that triggered this epiphany. There is plenty of obtuse rhetoric but little substance. What exactly is “needing to be made complete by the perfect love of God” supposed to mean?! The kind of language surrounding the supposed epiphany is very different from anything a rational philosopher would use, suggesting the author had either never truly embraced philosophy (perhaps seeking it as a substitute for religion rather than an end in itself) or had long since abandoned its rigorous approach to ideas about the divine.
The result seems to be both fascinating and stomach-turning in equal amounts. This lost soul who has wandered through the atheistic wilderness discovers to her joy that “I sucked! Christianity wasn't what was wrong with the world! A lack of education wasn't what was wrong with the world! I was what was wrong with the world”. Her life has seemingly been given new purpose - to experience shame and guilt.
More consequences of her newfound belief involve equating premarital sex, abortion and homosexuality to acts of selfishness. While this is a debate in itself, the fact is that many human actions (Hobbes says all) are acts of selfishness. If being with a person you love is an act of selfishness, the homosexuals are going to hell. If not wanting to bring a severely handicapped child into a world of suffering is an act of selfishness, then mothers who abort are going to hell. If two people want to experience sex - something which probably brings us closer to our true nature than any religious tract - then they are going to hell.
She can no longer enjoy television because it is “offensive to God”. Any idea that she might have been possessed of a sense of humour at any stage of her spiritual development has now thoroughly evaporated.
Towards the end of the article, perhaps the author has realised that she has not really provided any actual examinable reasons for her conversion and seeks to do so. We are told “ For me, Biblical truth wasn't verified through historical accuracy, inerrancy or reliability of the Gospels, because my initial assumptions didn't include these things”. Why not? Any student of philosophy is aware of the inherent flaw in the proposition commonly known as “Pascal’s Wager.” If you discount (as the author admits she did) everything which verifies the authenticity of the Bible’s version of truth, then you have absolutely no guarantee that you are following the correct interpretation of God’s will, beyond the fact that the Biblical version is appealing to you (and why should this be enough?).
There is a fundamental difference between the concepts of “truth” and “biblical truth”. Presumably, if the author examined the holy book of any other religion, she would have been similarly converted.
her mind-boggling explanation concludes with “The fact that I, or anyone, was capable of understanding spiritual matters became my evidence for the soul.” That any student of philosophy could think this sentence is strong enough to stand on its own, without reference to Cartesian metaphysics or any philosophy of mind at the very least, speaks volumes for the author’s ability to articulate her point.
Monday 4 June 2007
Purpose and Function - a philosophical distinction.
(Disclaimer: This is by no means my attempt at a proper philosophical discourse, I merely wrote it on a whim in order to clarify a point during a separate debate.)
In what follows I will attempt to show the distinction between the ‘purpose’ of an object and the ‘function of an object.
Definition of purpose:
A purpose may be defined as ‘the reason for which something exists or is done, made, used etc.’ or ‘an intended or desired result, end, aim, goal’.
Definition of function:
The dictionary definition of ‘function’ describes “the kind of action or activity proper to a person, thing, or institution; the purpose for which something is designed or exists; role.”
In this exercise, I shall use a slightly modified form of this definition.
‘Function’ shall be taken to refer to a description of an actualised physical interaction of a substance or substances. Unlike the above definition, it shall not be taken that the function of a thing implies a purpose for reasons which will be explained later.
Natural and artificial substances:
For the purposes of this article, an ‘artificial’ substance shall be taken to refer to any inorganic object whose creation requires the application of sentient intelligence or which is causally derivative of such an input. Houses, nests, swords and shoes fall into this category.
A natural substance shall refer to an object which has been formed through exclusively physical factors. Cliffs, clouds, organs and so on fall into this category.
It is my intent to show that the only types of substances which can be possessed of a purpose are artificial substances.
The River And The Dam.
Consider a tree which has fallen into a river, and a manmade dam.
The functions of both can be said to be essentially identical, each serves to alter the flow of the water.
However, it seems counterintuitive to say that the purpose of the fallen tree is to dam the river.
This means that while we can derive the function of a substance from an observation of its physical characteristics and its relationship with other physical bodies, the property of ‘purposefulness’ does not seem to be predicated on any physical factor.
Consider a second tree, identical to the first, which has been deliberately placed by a man so as to dam the river.
From a purely physical account, we could not differentiate in this case, which tree has a purpose and which does not. It can be said then, that the purpose of an object is in fact predicated upon the intent of its creator.
Purposes and the external world.
If an object has a purpose, it is created in order to fulfil some intended functional role.
Since natural substances which are not possessed of intelligence are incapable of creating substances with reference to further external substances (such natural substances do not experience awareness) we can conclude that intelligence or intent is a necessary requirement for something to be created with a ‘purpose’.
A heart after all, cannot be aware of the blood it pumps, just as an ocean cannot be aware of the cliff it creates. We do not say that the purpose of an ocean is to erode, yet it seems odd to say that the purpose of a heart is not to pump blood.
Evolutionary Anthropomorphisms
A problem when considering the human body is the fact that it appears at first to have been designed. Our organs are part of a highly complex system, which surely cannot have simply accidentally arranged itself so as to make our existence possible.
However, consider the example of an animal who has razor sharp claws, green skin, and lives in a forest.
It is tempting to conclude that his skin is designed to blend in with the surrounding trees, that the purpose of his claws is to act as a weapon to defend itself or hunt for food or whatever.
Yet when we look a little closer, we understand that we must modify our language.
The animal’s claws are ideal for catching prey perhaps, its skin is ideally suited to its environment.
Imagine a scenario with two lizards, one with green skin and sharp claws, and one whose genes have mutated to give it bright yellow skin and no claws.
For obvious reasons one species manages to survive while the other is soon wiped out, not being able to catch prey, not being able to camouflage itself in the green forest.
Over billions of years such changes occur, leaving us with the species who happened to be the best suited to survival. We should not infer from this that anything about us has in fact been designed. The genes which turn the lizard’s skin green are unaware of the trees, the genes which trigger the growth of the claws are unaware of the animals they will be used to catch. It just so happens that the green lizards got lucky, they survive and pass their genes on to future generations and so on.
To return to the example of the human heart, perhaps now we can see that it is not so absurd to say that our heart has a function, but does not in fact have a purpose, being the product of billions of years of evolutionary change.
Conclusion:
If the function describes what something does, the purpose describes why it does it. We have seen that for the essence of something to precede its existence a purpose or intent is necessary. Such requires an intelligence to conceive of the future relationship or interaction between the object and objects external to it.
It follows from this that no natural substances can be possessed of purposes in contrast with artificial substances which are possessed of both.
In what follows I will attempt to show the distinction between the ‘purpose’ of an object and the ‘function of an object.
Definition of purpose:
A purpose may be defined as ‘the reason for which something exists or is done, made, used etc.’ or ‘an intended or desired result, end, aim, goal’.
Definition of function:
The dictionary definition of ‘function’ describes “the kind of action or activity proper to a person, thing, or institution; the purpose for which something is designed or exists; role.”
In this exercise, I shall use a slightly modified form of this definition.
‘Function’ shall be taken to refer to a description of an actualised physical interaction of a substance or substances. Unlike the above definition, it shall not be taken that the function of a thing implies a purpose for reasons which will be explained later.
Natural and artificial substances:
For the purposes of this article, an ‘artificial’ substance shall be taken to refer to any inorganic object whose creation requires the application of sentient intelligence or which is causally derivative of such an input. Houses, nests, swords and shoes fall into this category.
A natural substance shall refer to an object which has been formed through exclusively physical factors. Cliffs, clouds, organs and so on fall into this category.
It is my intent to show that the only types of substances which can be possessed of a purpose are artificial substances.
The River And The Dam.
Consider a tree which has fallen into a river, and a manmade dam.
The functions of both can be said to be essentially identical, each serves to alter the flow of the water.
However, it seems counterintuitive to say that the purpose of the fallen tree is to dam the river.
This means that while we can derive the function of a substance from an observation of its physical characteristics and its relationship with other physical bodies, the property of ‘purposefulness’ does not seem to be predicated on any physical factor.
Consider a second tree, identical to the first, which has been deliberately placed by a man so as to dam the river.
From a purely physical account, we could not differentiate in this case, which tree has a purpose and which does not. It can be said then, that the purpose of an object is in fact predicated upon the intent of its creator.
Purposes and the external world.
If an object has a purpose, it is created in order to fulfil some intended functional role.
Since natural substances which are not possessed of intelligence are incapable of creating substances with reference to further external substances (such natural substances do not experience awareness) we can conclude that intelligence or intent is a necessary requirement for something to be created with a ‘purpose’.
A heart after all, cannot be aware of the blood it pumps, just as an ocean cannot be aware of the cliff it creates. We do not say that the purpose of an ocean is to erode, yet it seems odd to say that the purpose of a heart is not to pump blood.
Evolutionary Anthropomorphisms
A problem when considering the human body is the fact that it appears at first to have been designed. Our organs are part of a highly complex system, which surely cannot have simply accidentally arranged itself so as to make our existence possible.
However, consider the example of an animal who has razor sharp claws, green skin, and lives in a forest.
It is tempting to conclude that his skin is designed to blend in with the surrounding trees, that the purpose of his claws is to act as a weapon to defend itself or hunt for food or whatever.
Yet when we look a little closer, we understand that we must modify our language.
The animal’s claws are ideal for catching prey perhaps, its skin is ideally suited to its environment.
Imagine a scenario with two lizards, one with green skin and sharp claws, and one whose genes have mutated to give it bright yellow skin and no claws.
For obvious reasons one species manages to survive while the other is soon wiped out, not being able to catch prey, not being able to camouflage itself in the green forest.
Over billions of years such changes occur, leaving us with the species who happened to be the best suited to survival. We should not infer from this that anything about us has in fact been designed. The genes which turn the lizard’s skin green are unaware of the trees, the genes which trigger the growth of the claws are unaware of the animals they will be used to catch. It just so happens that the green lizards got lucky, they survive and pass their genes on to future generations and so on.
To return to the example of the human heart, perhaps now we can see that it is not so absurd to say that our heart has a function, but does not in fact have a purpose, being the product of billions of years of evolutionary change.
Conclusion:
If the function describes what something does, the purpose describes why it does it. We have seen that for the essence of something to precede its existence a purpose or intent is necessary. Such requires an intelligence to conceive of the future relationship or interaction between the object and objects external to it.
It follows from this that no natural substances can be possessed of purposes in contrast with artificial substances which are possessed of both.
Experimentation and Introduction
Good morning world. I am Brian and this is my blog.
Obviously I am not one for following trends, as my wardrobe will attest. Not in the pretentious way mind you (which is not to say I am not pretentious, I consider it self-evident as you are beginning to). Rather, I am possessed of the kind of laziness which has resulted in an overdeveloped imagination, an abundance of free time and a general ignorance of the inside of the Boole library at UCC.
With this in mind I declare that today, June 4th 2007, marks my initiation into the overpopulated and ego-inflated world of blogging.
Credit for my conversion can be largely attributed to my friend and occasional philosophical adversary Cian Boland. It would be remiss of me not to offer a plug at this point, so why not head on over to www.cianboland.com once you are done reading this and take a look at the indirect antecedent to what I hope will become a fairly adequate and accurate repository for my thoughts.
Don’t worry about the language either, I tend to have my multi-syllabic moods (read: pretentious). This can be contrasted with my ‘trying to be funny’ moods (read: overly sarcastic, bitter), and my ‘long nasty rant’ moods (that’s a pretty accurate description.) I am also fond of parentheses.
I have no idea as regards what the regular length or frequency of these blogs will be. I intend on posting some of the more philosophically/politically-themed diatribes from my profile on Bebo.com.
Comments are welcomed and encouraged. I am a fan of pointless exercises like debating on the internet and trying to name all fifty states (I always forget Delaware).
In any case, this initial entry is intended to serve as both an introduction and an exercise to see if I have actually managed to establish the webpage. Assuming you are reading this, there should already be some posts above which will hopefully give an indicator of the future content of this blog.
That’s all from me. Happy reading.
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