Monday, January 29, 2007

Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants.

This remarkable essay by Michael Pollan in the New York Times argues we should ditch "nutritionism" in favour of plain old food.
It was in the 1980s that food began disappearing from the American supermarket, gradually to be replaced by "nutrients," which are not the same thing. Where once the familiar names of recognizable comestibles — things like eggs or breakfast cereal or cookies — claimed pride of place on the brightly colored packages crowding the aisles, now new terms like "fiber" and "cholesterol" and "saturated fat" rose to large-type prominence. More important than mere foods, the presence or absence of these invisible substances was now generally believed to confer health benefits on their eaters. Foods by comparison were coarse, old-fashioned and decidedly unscientific things — who could say what was in them, really?

The article is often startling; don't expect to only read a bunch of same-old injuctions (though that is the core of it, and why not?). Cogently argued, beautifully written and altogether essential reading.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Chronicles

In keeping with my new year's resolution to put some of my actual writing up on this blog (death to the Internal Critic of Doom! I will not heed his evil voice that chants, Carrie-like, "They're all gonna laugh at you! They're all gonna laugh at you!") - and now I've lost track of my original sentence.

Ah, yes. In keeping with my new year's resolution (and yes, I know I said my resolution was not to make any resolutions, but the flesh is weak, all right? Stop judging me!) - er, where was I?

New year's resolution. Yes. 2007. To put up some original writing on this blog. To silence the ICoD because that bastard thinks he owns me. So I'm going to do this Sunday Scribblings thing. Simple enough, a weekly prompt and I write anything I feel like.

This week's prompt is "Chronicles". And what with all that talk of poetry yesterday, I think I feel a kyrielle coming on.

Secret confession: I am a rhyme-and-metre whore. I blush, I hide my face away - oh, the embarrassment! I'm officially in dhobi-ka-kutta territory now: normal people consider poetry nerdy, and poets consider rhyme incredibly uncool, so 1700s.

But here I am, stepping unforgiveably deeper into the world of blase by writing a kyrielle, a poem that not only rhymes, but has a refrain at the end of every stanza. I've been fascinated with this form ever since Fernwithy did this kyrielle for the R/T challenge month last year. Fascinating. Almost hypnotic. Sometimes I think religion would suit my temperament.

Ugh, atheist blasphemy. Enough pontification! On to the poem!
Chronicles of the Modern Artist

The morning sun's too bright for all
The hours that will drip away unlit
By thought or word or deed today:
This thought will be the death of her.

Yesterday's canvas for which she stole
Colour from skin and shape from body
Lies stained by words that spread like sin:
These words will be the death of her.

High noon arrives in fits and starts
Of office crowds to be waited on
Through lunch. And then some busy-work.
This work will be the death of her.

Through slanted rays of cleansing water
And the numbness TV gives as alms,
Through all her shields his kiss still lingers:
This kiss will be the death of her.

In sleep she paints bursts of flames
Dancing with the spirits of the gods.
They're dreams, she knows, but in them she lives:
These dreams will be the death of her.

*runs and hides*

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Open Letter to India Uncut (and Admirers of Charles Bukowski)

Dear India Uncut,

Wednesday's post "Don't do it" is ridiculous! Disgusting! Infuriating!

To begin with, that's just about the worst poem I've ever clapped my eyes on. Plain prose with capitals removed and broken up randomly into uneven lines doesn't magically transform itself into poetry. What pretentiousness! Oooh, look at me, I'm a poet because I know how to use the return key!


Free verse does not free the poet from the demands of beauty. Free verse is Ash Wednesday , Gitanjali and all those wonderful pieces in Leaves of Grass.

But yes, taste is subjective. Maybe the sentiment expressed by the poem is worth something -
don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.


Hmm... Dull and boring.... now what does that remind me of? ... This poem.

Did you perchance take a look at Charlie's bio? It exposes him as the rankest hypocrite:
[In 1941 he] left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways. Bukowski ... began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five.

Many writers develop a certain bitterness towards their more successful (read: published) colleagues, and it is common enough in our circles to hear someone rail against the writing establishment that publishes unworthy crap while ignoring the railer's own genius. I cannot spit without hitting another short story, another avant-garde play, another poem in free verse that spouts black rage against the talentless hacks who insist on writing and using up all the space that should have been reserved for this. Is there any doubt that this poem, this marvellous poem urging others NOT TO WRITE, is of the same breed? What is it that really causes this poet such mortal anguish? Is he unaware that a boring book can be shut?

But the ghost of Hemingway could come down from heaven and tell me I shouldn't write "if [I] have to sit for hours/ staring at [my] computer screen/ or hunched over [my]/ typewriter/ searching for words", and I'd call him a fool. Mostly because Hemingway himself had periods when he wrote excruciatingly slowly (and unbearably well, in sharp contrast to our friend Charlie). But also because who the fuck he is to tell ME? History is rife with examples of writers who slaved, bled, wept and tortured themselves to get the words out, and we are so much the richer for their work. Who was it that said, "Writing is easy. You just put a blank sheet of paper in the typewriter and open a vein." Easy writing makes hard reading. Like that poem.

My favourite quote on writing comes from Stephen King:
You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair--the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.

I'm not asking you to come reverently or unquestioningly; I'm not asking you to be politically correct or cast aside your sense of humor (please God you have one). This isn't a popularity contest, it's not the moral Olympics, and it's not church. But it's writing, damn it, not washing the car or putting on eyeliner.


That's all.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Colbert on Bollywood

Frickin's hilarious, all the more because he has NO idea what's he's saying!

Thursday, January 18, 2007

*Howl*

Watching this has turned my crappy day around...

Revolutionary! Or, A Tale of Two Presidents

Did you hear? Did you see?

President APJ Abdul Kalam asks on Yahoo! Answers (and yes, it's really him) -
Human society ... has always been at war within and between groups and has [known] two World Wars. Presently, terrorism and low intensity warfare are affecting many parts of the world.

... When evil minds combine, good minds have to work together and combat [them]. In this context, what are [your] out-of-the-box solutions to free the planet earth from terrorism?


Dear Mr. President,

I am not an expert in foreign policy - or anything else, really. A 25 year old hardly ever is. And yet the terrorist force is made up mostly of people *younger* than me, so that makes it imperative for me to take you up on your call to... er... brains?

Here's the answer: an idle mind is the devil's workshop, and in this case, the devils are mullahs, ayatollahs and sect leaders who instil the ideals of violence in idle young people.

Give the people something to do, somewhere to work, something to study. There is in fact a viable way to achieve this: opening borders rather than closing them.

It sounds counterintuitive, but that is what needs to be done. The borders of *all* nations need to be open to foreign labour. Then you world leaders can sit back and watch an enormous middle-class scramble to create itself. Nobody juggling school, two jobs and a family has time to listen to old kooks rant.

You're probably not reading this. There's upwards of 11,000 responses here, and this one will probably get lost in the deluge. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you asked for our thoughts and opinions. What a way to reach out to people! I congratulate you on taking this daring, amazing step. Certain other presidents have much to learn about the spirit behind your gesture.

Regards,
Nandini
Albany, NY
(formerly of Bangalore, India)

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Dilemma

It's so hard to know what to think of Bush's new plan to 'surge' in Iraq.

For four years we had it easy: WTF is this guy thinking? I don't mean to say there isn't a strong element of that even now (it's Bush, please) but really, what's to be done about the great Iraq question?

On one hand, there're the Iraqis. If I was Iraqi I'd be yelling: you got me into this mess, sharmoota, and you gonna get me out of it - I don't care how many bajillion dollars it costs you.

But on the other hand, there's me, the honest US taxpayer with whose retirement fund is swiftly going poof on some goddamned mullahs whose dearest wish is to kill me and then one another, because a jackass president who I didn't even elect went around starting wars without listening to a word I said.

So I'm coming down on the familiar side of "Bush's Plan Is Nuts", but I can't say I'm able to meet the eyes of the (admittedly few) honest Iraqis. It's a dog eat dog world, whatchagonnado.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Two Qs For Techies

Huddle up, technologically advanced perusers of this blog. Your brains look like they need picking.

1. Saurabh wants to know: is there a smart aggregator out there that can order items from various feeds chronologically?

2. I want to know: what's a good server for an Invision Board forum that has about 200 active members? Is Esosoft any good?

Many thanks and lavish felicitations shall be showered on helpful responders. Really. Please help?

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Sunday, January 7, 2007

Blame the Freak Currents

It's January in New England. Everybody knows what that means - lock your doors, turn up the heat and watch the snowfall through your window over a mug of hot chocolate.

Not this year. This year you bring out the summer clothes and head over to the golf course.

Yesterday the temperature here was a positively blistering 71 degrees F (21.7 C), shattering the previous record high for the day easily (60 F, 1928). 71F is probably higher than the average highs in May. The average high in normal Januarys, you ask? 31 F (-0.5 C). People were in tshirts yesterday. On the news they said the golf courses were packed. In January.

Experiencing temperatures 40 degrees above normal is not the only freakish thing happening this winter. Remember snow? Well, this is the longest we've ever waited in any winter ever on record for the first half inch of snow. Over here in Albany there's been light dustings exactly twice. New York City just nearby has yet to see a single snowflake. Welcome to bizarro January.


Our local news, trying hard to remain "apolitical", practically celebrated yesterday's record high. They were all laughing and saying what a wonderful day it was (cloudy and dank and gloomy as hell, sure it's wonderful), they brought in a new expert meteorologist to talk about the warmth, they interviewed people on the streets who all said what a great time they were having. Nobody even breathed the word on everyone's minds: global warming.

In the print news, they at least are allowing that it might not be such a great thing to have warm days in January. But they blame the usual suspect: El Nino.

Sure, El Nine the warm Pacific current is causing this warmup, but how dumb (or Republican, same thing) are these meteorologists if they can't look one step further: why is there an El Nino at all? Suddenly? Why no El Ninos in the 1890s? Or the 1910s? Why now? Dumbasses.

It's the weather *shrug*. What the hell can I do about it? Well, one thing: I can tell you guys to watch An Inconvenient Truth, if you haven't already. Pay close attention to the part where Gore describes how global warming causes small, puny currents to pick up extra warmth and spiral out of control as they blow over oceans superheated by atmospheric CO2.

That's all.

Friday, January 5, 2007

ItwoFS

That's Inspiration in Indian Film Songs. When you look at what's in the site, you realise that's the world's biggest euphemism.

We all know "music directors" in India routinely rip off english songs, right? Think Ram-Laxman in Maine Pyaar Kiya - from Aate Jaate to the unforgivable Mere Rang Me, the tunes were instantly recognisable even to a frog-in-the-well like me whose mother banned MTV at home. Absolutely routine.

Let me guarantee this: even the most cynical of you is in for a rude shock at ItwoFS.


I've only had time for a quick skim, and here are some of the shockers I came up with:
  • Om Shanti Om from Karz is a note-by-note copy of calypso and reggae artiste Lord Shorty's 1974 song titled - wait for it - Shanti Om.

  • Jumma Chumma De De from Hum is a blatant lift of Guinean singer Mory Kante's Tama Tama

  • Suniye To from Yes Boss is a complete copy of Ahla Ma Feki by Hisham Abbas


... You know, I'll stop listing the transgressions now: it's making me mad, and you can look it up yourself in any case.

One last mention, though. Remember the song ABCDEFGHI.... from Hum Saath Saath Hain? Unmatched in sheer inanity of lyrics (the whole alphabet, plus an "I love you", THAT'S IT!), it comes as quite a whopper to know that our old friends Ram-Laxman copied the tune, bringing their effective creative contribution on this song to zero. Apparently, it's from a song called Por que te vas? from the 1974 Spanish movie Cria Cuervos. Listen to the clip on ItwoFS (search for 'ABCD' on this page). Slap forehead. Repeat for every other song listed.

Happy listening.

The Dilemma

Just stumbled upon what would make an excellent companion illustration to the poem I mentioned yesterday. w00t! :D

Map Mania!


Here's an animated map of the Middle East through the ages: absolutely mindblowing. Holy flying camels. This is beyond cool.


(via Holly Lisle)

Thursday, January 4, 2007

Free Will Quickie

Scott Adams's post today reminded me: I was supposed to blog about free will a while back and completely forgot. Thhbbbppppt. Now it's almost not timely any more, because the Economist article that triggered these thoughts is two weeks old, but since the free will debate has been waging for at least two thousand years, hey, what the hell.

Anyway. The Economist went crazy in its holiday issue, and it seems the NYT has gone the same way today. Gist of the article: guy has tumour in his brain that makes him a pedophile. Remove the tumour, and he isn't interested in kids any more. Ergo there is no free will. Therefore, he isn't responsible for his actions and should not be punished.


Dear lunatics at The Economist: are you hypothesising some kind of floating, supernatural "free will" independent of our brain chemistry that decides stuff for us, and then proving it doesn't exist? Big fat congratulations to you, NOT.

Look, we have brains. Brains make our choices based on whatever hormone happens to be going on a kick at the moment. End of story. How does this change the way we look at criminals and punishment? Just because someone's brain "compelled" them to commit a crime, doesn't make them any less dangerous!

What needs to be done in the tumour case is: prove beyond reasonable doubt that the tumour is the sole cause of the behaviour. Remove it. Make half-yearly brain scans mandatory for the guy to ensure returning tumours are promptly removed - if he doesn't show up for scans, he goes to jail. For other criminals whose cranial causes of criminalism aren't so clear cut or easily removable, sorry, but we gotta keep society safe from you. How about we provide room and board while we try to condition your brain to behave, by strongly disincentivising bad behaviour? Coz it's a miracle organ, that brain. It can be trained.

We've accepted for centuries that the purpose of legal punishment is not retribution or revenge, but rehabilitation and restitution. (This is why the death penalty SUCKS.) The "absence" of free will changes nothing.

Old Fics and New

This post contains recommendations of Harry Potter fanfiction I read last weekend. Haughty, boneheaded scoffers have my permission look elsewhere.


First, a bit of Christmas cheer from Suburban House Elf, whose poem, A Visit from St Nicholas, a work of pure genius, has Santa Claus pondering the eternal question: Is Severus Snape naughty or nice?
[Snape speaking]
"You’re my captive until you can meet my fair price
By telling me this: Am I naughty or nice?"
...
"You want me to tell you?" asked Santa, perplexed.
"Yes," answered Snape, unless you want to be hexed."
"Don’t you know?" Santa wondered. "One gen’rally finds,
That wizards of your age all know their own minds."
...
Snape sullenly slumped in a sitting room chair,
And his bony hands tore at his lank, greasy hair.
"I’ve already tried that," he told Santa, pleading.
"But my conscience," Snape went on, "makes curious reading."


Next, we have a maddeningly fantastic piece of work from Ponderous: maddening because it's unfinished! (There's your fair warning. It's still well worth reading, though.) The Crux of the Matter is a 7th year fic, and features a cracking plot, spot-on trio interaction and a wicked, wicked original character. Very creepy stuff.

And last, here's a general author rec for Fionnabhair, whose Ginny-Hermione interactions are among the best I've ever seen. This woman also has a knack for writing not-plot fics that are completely original, very realistic, and decidedly not empty of content.

Monday, January 1, 2007

2007 Firsts

First Words: "Arre! No countdown?"

First Photo:
That's NOT fat, that's two thick sweaters!


First Screwup: No ID, no entry into pubs. :'(


First Video:


First Movie: Golmal (the new one). Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh. UGGGHH. To think I said such nice things about Paresh Rawal just two days ago!

First Lesson Learned: Ain't no headache like a Vodka headache.

Fixin' to move

Bored and restless am I. It's time to move on from this "wendelin" business. I'm fixing up a new place to get properly res...