Just in case anybody was wondering, I did attempt to write a post this week. I spent all this time trying to formulate a post explaining my PhD work, which I hoped would be accessible to most people, who, wisely, wouldn't normally spend too much time thinking about about such things. The result was a bit of a wank. I decided at the last moment (actually a little after I'd published it) that I had an ethical responsibility to spare you all and retract it. Still, it seemed a shame to waste - so here it is again, slightly altered after the suggestions made by the rednecks at a site I discover on my internet travels. I'm sure it'll make about as much sense...
Ah said in an earlier post thet th' focus of mah PhD was evolushunary ethics, in particular biological altruism, namely th' evolushun of agin'. When ah say agin' ah mean - death by internal cuzs. Thar is argoomnts which pursue th' line thet agin' is a by-produck, i.e., an inevitable part of livin'. E.g, acco'din' t' th' code o' th' heells! like a car, o' enny other mechanical device, which is created an' inevitably deterio'ates wif age. But o'ganisms, unlike cars, is subjeck t'continuous flux of material, cells is continuously dyin' an' bein' replaced, like a starfish which will grow back a sevahed arm, we is livin'! Fry mah hide! Thar is menny examples of o'ganisms fo' which agin' death is like programmed se'f destruckshun (i.e. an adappashun, by which ah mean, a chareeckeristic which sarves an evolushunary benefit). It is mah projeck t'attempp t'explain whut postible benefit thar c'd be t'agin' an' how it'd manifess itse'f.
Consider this: it is obvious thet thar kin be no benefit t'th' indivijool who dies of old age, as they will no longer be aroun' t'see, an' receive, th' consequences. Thus, an adappive agin''d seem t'be th' ultimate negashun of thet fine known adage "survival of th' fittest", thet is, until we reviset whut is meant by th' fittess - in particular cornsider th' quesshun "th' fittess whut?". Th' obvious interpretashun of "survival of th' fittest" is t'reckon in terms of th' indivijool - th' strongest, most ruthless, se'fish indivijool - "nature, red in tooth an' claw". Although, this hyar is an undeniably strong facko' in evolushun, sech a simplistic view leads t'th' abho'rent politics an' ethics of th' Social Darwinites. ah hark on th' title of a popular book by Richard Dawkins called "Th' Se'fish June", which I'd highly recommend eff'n yo' haf even th' slightess interess in th' topic. Th' concepp of th' se'fish june points out thet th' units of seleckshun is not th' indivijool o'ganisms, which is merely tempo'ary vessels, but th' junes themselves, which is eternal, ah reckon. Dawkins insists on th' inclushun of th' wo'd "se'fish" in his title, holdin' thet evolushun still, essentially, favours th' se'fish, jest at a diffrunt level. Th' concepp of th' june transcends th' indivijool an' spills into, obviously, close relatives who share a common ancesto' (an' hence th' same junes) an', less obviously, by extenshun, th' group/species. Thus, our agin' june, which c'd haf no benefit t'th' indivijool, kin still benefit th' replicashuns of itse'f in neighbours.
Th' challenge now is t'dexcribe a benefit which c'd outweigh th' costs - sumpin I've got a few answers to. In all cases, agin' benefits th' populashun by makin' room fo' th' yo'ng, which c'd be useful fo' various reasons which ah won't hoof it into at th' moment.
Eff'n one wanted t'a take a particularly pervahse view on this, one c'd argue fo' th' ethical killin' of old varmints (Soylent Green is PEOPLE! Fry mah hide!), in th' name of progress. ah varmintally'd rather use it t'find peace in mah mo'tality. Regardless, ah reckon it is interestin' t'note th' amount of attenshun our society gives t'agin'. Consider th' market fo' anti-agin' producks - cornsider th' promise of eternal life, common t'th' majo'ity of religions.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
My Recent Adventures on Flatulon-Nine
I've recently returned from a wondrous journey though the blogosphere. I have just updated to the new blogger in beta. As some of you may have noticed, things have changed around a little bit here. I've tried to keep things similar to the way they were before. Most of the big changes have occurred where you can't see them, with the provision of tools, making the whole blogging thing a bit easier (although, totally screwing up all my little HTML hacks). So, this is probably a good time for all you lazy MySpacers to do the transition into the more serious (i.e. more snobbish) blog world. I'd be happy to help anybody get started on blog spot (which is free), to get over the slight HTML hurdle (although, I'm no expert). Maybe a pot of tea and a chat at my place to get you on your merry way.
I thought I might tell you a story about one of my many adventures during my journey though the blogosphere, about this place I visited, called Flatulon-Nine. I told Jodi about it this morning, and she said that it was surely a dream. This might make sense considering that Jodi has been very gassy of late. Although, she insists that it's actually Gypsy who is the gassy one, but she's been really good since we got her off the canned food (no such luck with Jodi). Anyway, it's a special type of gas which helps me to sleep and induces interesting dreams...
The occupants of Flatulon-Nine are the Flatulonians. The Flatulonians are very similar the people of Earth, except their heads are located where their bottoms should be, and their bottoms are located where their heads should be. They also walk around on their hands, so nobody bothers washing their hands after they've been to the toilet. The Flatulonians communicate by farting at each other. It is considered rude if you fart whilst you are facing someone, because that would mean you're talking in the opposite direction. Sometimes the Flatulonians get confused about who is talking to who, because they often can't see who they are talking to. Sometimes, conversations simply tail off, if they get distracted by marauding air fresheners, and forget about the Flatulonian they are talking to behind them. This is mostly OK, because the Flatulonians are a very understanding people. In fact, one of their favourite things to do is to say "I love you" to each other. Flatulonians say "I love you" by farting (the louder the better) directly in the recipient's face (small cute pop farts translate as a small cute "I wuv you"). This requires a certain amount of co-ordination if they want to surprise each other during marriage proposals (in fact, many Flatulonians accidentally propose to the wrong person, but are happy regardless). When Mummy and Daddy Flatulonians love each other very much, they sometimes make fart love, which looks a bit like 69 rimming, and this is how baby Flatulonians are created.
Whilst I was staying at Flatulon-Nine I made a friend called Windy Pop. Windy Pop was considered very attractive to the Flatulonian girls (who thought his fart smells were very rock n' roll). In spite of this, he was very lonely. The problem was that he thought about things too much. He'd met a girl that he liked very much, but every time he tried to say that he loved the girl, he'd hesitate, worrying that he might be too hasty, or not able to perform, or that a bit of pooh might accidentally come out. As it was, by the time he'd farted out his declaration of love and turned around to see if it would be reciprocated, the girl Flatulonian had already left.
I thought I might tell you a story about one of my many adventures during my journey though the blogosphere, about this place I visited, called Flatulon-Nine. I told Jodi about it this morning, and she said that it was surely a dream. This might make sense considering that Jodi has been very gassy of late. Although, she insists that it's actually Gypsy who is the gassy one, but she's been really good since we got her off the canned food (no such luck with Jodi). Anyway, it's a special type of gas which helps me to sleep and induces interesting dreams...
The occupants of Flatulon-Nine are the Flatulonians. The Flatulonians are very similar the people of Earth, except their heads are located where their bottoms should be, and their bottoms are located where their heads should be. They also walk around on their hands, so nobody bothers washing their hands after they've been to the toilet. The Flatulonians communicate by farting at each other. It is considered rude if you fart whilst you are facing someone, because that would mean you're talking in the opposite direction. Sometimes the Flatulonians get confused about who is talking to who, because they often can't see who they are talking to. Sometimes, conversations simply tail off, if they get distracted by marauding air fresheners, and forget about the Flatulonian they are talking to behind them. This is mostly OK, because the Flatulonians are a very understanding people. In fact, one of their favourite things to do is to say "I love you" to each other. Flatulonians say "I love you" by farting (the louder the better) directly in the recipient's face (small cute pop farts translate as a small cute "I wuv you"). This requires a certain amount of co-ordination if they want to surprise each other during marriage proposals (in fact, many Flatulonians accidentally propose to the wrong person, but are happy regardless). When Mummy and Daddy Flatulonians love each other very much, they sometimes make fart love, which looks a bit like 69 rimming, and this is how baby Flatulonians are created.
Whilst I was staying at Flatulon-Nine I made a friend called Windy Pop. Windy Pop was considered very attractive to the Flatulonian girls (who thought his fart smells were very rock n' roll). In spite of this, he was very lonely. The problem was that he thought about things too much. He'd met a girl that he liked very much, but every time he tried to say that he loved the girl, he'd hesitate, worrying that he might be too hasty, or not able to perform, or that a bit of pooh might accidentally come out. As it was, by the time he'd farted out his declaration of love and turned around to see if it would be reciprocated, the girl Flatulonian had already left.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Owen's Pixie Wet Dream
Recently Meg was alerted to someone using her full name in a Google search for her blog. This is something to be concerned about because of the potential consequences should one of her students come across it (apparently there are numerous penis references and the like). It occurred to me that most people wouldn't have any idea how Meg came upon this Google search term information. Perhaps, they may even be freaked out by the equivalent invasion of their own privacy. So, being the computer scientist, I thought I would take it upon myself to educate you on the actual goings on during these internet transactions.
First I'll let you in on a little secret: all the wires and junk you see when you open up your computer is just a decoy. The real work is done by the pixies (often confused with pixels). This fact is obvious when you consider the temperamental nature of computers. Unpredictable behaviour is especially a problem with Microsnot computers, which use al-Qaeda-esque training camps to train their pixies. Anyway, these pixies need to talk to each other to get the job done (be it for good or evil purposes). When the pixies are corresponding over the internet, they use special mailing addresses called IP (Internet Pixie) addresses. The pixies are also very good (perhaps, evilly so) at remembering all this information. Many a person has got into trouble over the information relinquished by a pixie under torture (the Microsnot pixies, regardless of all their special training - or perhaps because of it - are particularly vulnerable to this type of attack). This is why there is a high demand for "clear history" buttons in workplace browers, which causes the pixies in your computer to undergo electro-shock therapy (this is why you need to plug your computer into a power point). Anyway, I digress. So, I get the pixies who maintain my blog page (a special pant-less variety of pixies) to remember the last 100 visitors. This is something very common on the internet, and you can bet your favourite pair of undies that a lot of the commercial sites (and, ahem, other types of sites) will keep this information also. There are also data mining pixies (who get to wear those cool hard hats) which specialise in "mining" the interesting information out of this data - information such as: where people are coming from (i.e. what link, if any, did they click to get there); what countries they are from; and what terms people use in search engines to find your site (hence, Meg's awareness of the usage of her full name). This is useful for sites who want to get first place on the Google search page listing, for Meg to get paranoid over, and for me to get a bit of a giggle.
I've started collecting some of the more interesting Google searches by which people have found my blog site. It occurred to me that these might make for a kind of reflective posting (now that I've reached the exciting grand total of 14 posts). I've had a few obvious searches, such as "Pants Optional" and "Philosophical Steakhouse", which would probably be people actually looking for my site. A bit of a strange one was "My boyfriend - I wear the pants", which may have been Jodi, linked to my first posting Pants Optional. I had a moment sharing the spotlight with a celebrity when a couple of people Googled "Daniel Kitson", whom I briefly referred to in the Table for One at the Philosophical Steak House posting, although, there was a conspicuous absence of "Hanson" searches for my MMMBop and Safety Head Gear posting. My favourites were linked to my The Gay Thing post. Apparently, I'd managed to tap into the more fetish-related aspects of the internet with search terms of "People think that I'm gay", "How I lost my virginity story" and "Gay peeing" linking to my site. I even had a totally bizarre "Twee Porn" search, which linked to my Tweemo posting. All this gives an interesting insight into how people use the internet. I could only imagine the types of searches people use to end up at Meg's blog, for example, check out this "horror porn" I found on Meg's site, affectionately dubbed "The Dildo-Cam":
Here's a fun activity for you all (and a way of getting revenge for all those click-throughs I got to my site after Meg linked me to the "blue balls" conspiracy) - try to figure out some interesting search terms that will get you to Meg's blog, e.g., "Meg the Petulant Teacher", "Meg's Lucky Dildo-Cam" or "Meg's Crazy Constipation" (Yes, these all got Meg first page listing on Google, at time of writing). Note that this only works if you actually visit the site (otherwise she won't know!), so click on through to her site and the pixies will be sure to get a bit of kick out of sharing your fun search terms with her.
First I'll let you in on a little secret: all the wires and junk you see when you open up your computer is just a decoy. The real work is done by the pixies (often confused with pixels). This fact is obvious when you consider the temperamental nature of computers. Unpredictable behaviour is especially a problem with Microsnot computers, which use al-Qaeda-esque training camps to train their pixies. Anyway, these pixies need to talk to each other to get the job done (be it for good or evil purposes). When the pixies are corresponding over the internet, they use special mailing addresses called IP (Internet Pixie) addresses. The pixies are also very good (perhaps, evilly so) at remembering all this information. Many a person has got into trouble over the information relinquished by a pixie under torture (the Microsnot pixies, regardless of all their special training - or perhaps because of it - are particularly vulnerable to this type of attack). This is why there is a high demand for "clear history" buttons in workplace browers, which causes the pixies in your computer to undergo electro-shock therapy (this is why you need to plug your computer into a power point). Anyway, I digress. So, I get the pixies who maintain my blog page (a special pant-less variety of pixies) to remember the last 100 visitors. This is something very common on the internet, and you can bet your favourite pair of undies that a lot of the commercial sites (and, ahem, other types of sites) will keep this information also. There are also data mining pixies (who get to wear those cool hard hats) which specialise in "mining" the interesting information out of this data - information such as: where people are coming from (i.e. what link, if any, did they click to get there); what countries they are from; and what terms people use in search engines to find your site (hence, Meg's awareness of the usage of her full name). This is useful for sites who want to get first place on the Google search page listing, for Meg to get paranoid over, and for me to get a bit of a giggle.
I've started collecting some of the more interesting Google searches by which people have found my blog site. It occurred to me that these might make for a kind of reflective posting (now that I've reached the exciting grand total of 14 posts). I've had a few obvious searches, such as "Pants Optional" and "Philosophical Steakhouse", which would probably be people actually looking for my site. A bit of a strange one was "My boyfriend - I wear the pants", which may have been Jodi, linked to my first posting Pants Optional. I had a moment sharing the spotlight with a celebrity when a couple of people Googled "Daniel Kitson", whom I briefly referred to in the Table for One at the Philosophical Steak House posting, although, there was a conspicuous absence of "Hanson" searches for my MMMBop and Safety Head Gear posting. My favourites were linked to my The Gay Thing post. Apparently, I'd managed to tap into the more fetish-related aspects of the internet with search terms of "People think that I'm gay", "How I lost my virginity story" and "Gay peeing" linking to my site. I even had a totally bizarre "Twee Porn" search, which linked to my Tweemo posting. All this gives an interesting insight into how people use the internet. I could only imagine the types of searches people use to end up at Meg's blog, for example, check out this "horror porn" I found on Meg's site, affectionately dubbed "The Dildo-Cam":
Here's a fun activity for you all (and a way of getting revenge for all those click-throughs I got to my site after Meg linked me to the "blue balls" conspiracy) - try to figure out some interesting search terms that will get you to Meg's blog, e.g., "Meg the Petulant Teacher", "Meg's Lucky Dildo-Cam" or "Meg's Crazy Constipation" (Yes, these all got Meg first page listing on Google, at time of writing). Note that this only works if you actually visit the site (otherwise she won't know!), so click on through to her site and the pixies will be sure to get a bit of kick out of sharing your fun search terms with her.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Undergarment Thievery
When I got a dog I wanted to ensure that I took pet parenting very seriously. I got a whole load of books on dog ownership and training. Regardless, I wasn't prepared for just how difficult it was going to be. People think puppies are cute and lament the fact that they don't stay so forever. Obviously they forget, or haven't experienced, the chewing, the pooping and peeing all over the place, excitement peeing and the middle of the night whatevers. Our little Gypsy's all that and more. I must say, I do love a girl who can't help but wee a little when she's excited. Such is my position, that I find myself departing the house on, at least, two occasions every day. Firstly, so she can take her daily walk and get all those important socialisation skills with other dogs down at the local leash-free park. Secondly, leaving her alone at the house so that she gets used to being alone and doesn't develop separation anxiety (a common problem for dogs with owners who work from home). I often wonder what I've got myself into as I aimlessly wonder the streets, just killing time. Her recent favourite pastime is stealing yesterday's underwear (something, I'd never do, of course). This morning I went to visit my brother Michael who just celebrated his 11th Birthday (Happy Birthday Michael), Gypsy apparently missed me...
Awww, cute puppy pictures (sorry, I just couldn't resist). Perhaps this would make a good advertisement for bonds underwear. With the caption "Who hasn't felt like doing this on those especially lonely nights?" I know I have... Whilst in Japan I heard about these vending machines (which are everywhere, you couldn't imagine) which dispensed packages containing used underwear, along with a picture of the previous owner. I searched for these vending machines, for a souvenir (perverted, who me?), but to no avail.
So, what do people think about vending machines being used in this manner?
Awww, cute puppy pictures (sorry, I just couldn't resist). Perhaps this would make a good advertisement for bonds underwear. With the caption "Who hasn't felt like doing this on those especially lonely nights?" I know I have... Whilst in Japan I heard about these vending machines (which are everywhere, you couldn't imagine) which dispensed packages containing used underwear, along with a picture of the previous owner. I searched for these vending machines, for a souvenir (perverted, who me?), but to no avail.
So, what do people think about vending machines being used in this manner?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
