Who is that person? Why are they stopping their motorbike and trying to talk to you through their helmet? What is going on? Is this one of those incidents? Is it Level Two? Level One is when cars mysteriously beep at you as they zoom past you on the road, but Level Two is the stop. Suddenly, you are confronted with someone you haven't seen for twenty years, since school time, and they're gleefully suggesting that you don't remember them. The face is somehow familiar... and then they put you out of your misery, and ten minutes of cheering banter ensue. Then, with a sonic boom, it's all over and you're returned to your previous activity.
Reality is funny that way. It likes to intrude upon people's lives in small doses and then retreat with no warning, leaving some necessary realignment in its wake before being forgotten all over again. No absent-minded stroll down to the river and back is safe! You have been warned! Level Two is not the final level you can reach here, but it's best to not dwell on the significance of Level Three, which is yet to occur.
What could Level Three be? In general? A lost girlfriend meeting you on the bike trail? A mentor figure selling you a burger from a roadside van? Would anything else be that significant? A favourite author wandering into your library, checking to see if they have any of his books in stock? Ah, Level Three, you shall remain mythical to this writer, due to a lack of personal history. Where do some people accumulate all that personal history anyway? Is it a requirement of not being a blogger or mathematician?
Now to return to the regular activities of the week: reading 'No Name', tutoring, the endless DVD marathon, working on 'Alien Landing Centre', and endless worrying about money. What will happen? Will the endless O.U. debate be answered? Will 'The Glove' finally be abandoned as a serial story or will it be turned around with a flourish? We shall have to see...
O.
Sunday, 31 July 2016
Friday, 29 July 2016
Television: 'The West Wing: In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen' (2000) (Episodes 2x01 and 2x02)
I honestly didn't remember that it was this good. From the very beginning, there were tears and shock as the repercussions of the season one cliffhanger rolled in, and the two part story then never slowed down. The sheer ruthlessness of plotting drove it on, coupled to the surest characterisation, acting, direction and overall excellence to be seen anywhere. There's a reason why 'The West Wing' won so many awards in those first four years, penned by the mighty Aaron Sorkin, and that reason is magnificence.
'In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen' (ITSOTG) picks up where the season one cliffhanger, 'What Kind Of Day Has It Been', climaxed, forming a rough three-parter in practice. Shots have rung out, people are down, and chaos has erupted at the exit to the building within which Bartlet was giving his address. Who is injured? Is the danger over? Will people die? (Was Mandy shot through a retroactive continuity wormhole and removed from the time-space continuum, thus explaining why she's never seen again or even mentioned?) How would anyone be able to stay sane over the Summer vacation, waiting to find out?
Most of the dramatic weight and trauma is carried by the two characters most beloved in the series to date, and the ones whose injury would be the most traumatic to the viewers: President Bartlet himself, not too seriously, and the marvelous Josh Lyman, immediately sucked into critical condition and hours of surgery after being discovered by the fallible knight errant Toby. What could have been an overly intense two hours of watching people be shocked while you are yourself shocked, is saved by the intense wonder of the unfolding story of Bartlet's presidential campaign from three years before, told in flashback within the framing narrative. It's the story of the grand rounding up of the West Wing's staff and central characters, but it's also Josh and Bartlet's story, the story that makes the whole thing tick, with a healthy dose of Toby's enigmatic splendour thrown in for full measure. Yes, Sam, Leo, CJ and Donna are important, but it's those three that form the heart of the whole enterprise, and who must have won the arch-plotter Sorkin's heart.
If you're familiar with the series at all, then you couldn't possibly watch ITSOTG without shedding a few tears, as Josh goes into surgery, into and out of shock, and helps the round up of the gang in the past. You also see the deep human underpinnings of Bartlet as he offers to go with Josh to his father's wake even while a primary victory celebration and California awaits. It's just perfect, and nothing more remains to be said.
O.
'In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen' (ITSOTG) picks up where the season one cliffhanger, 'What Kind Of Day Has It Been', climaxed, forming a rough three-parter in practice. Shots have rung out, people are down, and chaos has erupted at the exit to the building within which Bartlet was giving his address. Who is injured? Is the danger over? Will people die? (Was Mandy shot through a retroactive continuity wormhole and removed from the time-space continuum, thus explaining why she's never seen again or even mentioned?) How would anyone be able to stay sane over the Summer vacation, waiting to find out?
Most of the dramatic weight and trauma is carried by the two characters most beloved in the series to date, and the ones whose injury would be the most traumatic to the viewers: President Bartlet himself, not too seriously, and the marvelous Josh Lyman, immediately sucked into critical condition and hours of surgery after being discovered by the fallible knight errant Toby. What could have been an overly intense two hours of watching people be shocked while you are yourself shocked, is saved by the intense wonder of the unfolding story of Bartlet's presidential campaign from three years before, told in flashback within the framing narrative. It's the story of the grand rounding up of the West Wing's staff and central characters, but it's also Josh and Bartlet's story, the story that makes the whole thing tick, with a healthy dose of Toby's enigmatic splendour thrown in for full measure. Yes, Sam, Leo, CJ and Donna are important, but it's those three that form the heart of the whole enterprise, and who must have won the arch-plotter Sorkin's heart.
If you're familiar with the series at all, then you couldn't possibly watch ITSOTG without shedding a few tears, as Josh goes into surgery, into and out of shock, and helps the round up of the gang in the past. You also see the deep human underpinnings of Bartlet as he offers to go with Josh to his father's wake even while a primary victory celebration and California awaits. It's just perfect, and nothing more remains to be said.
O.
Wednesday, 27 July 2016
Time Enough At Last?
We drift down a stream of consciousness, and we call it living. Are we in control of it all, or is it all dictated by some plan etched into the foundations of time? We'll never know. We just drift, drift, drift. Yes, it may seem as if we're paddling, but the rudder is missing, and probably being sold in a bargain bin at Eternity's second hand rudder store. It's nice to just mentally drift when you're tired and recovering from all the tensions of modern life. Drift drift drift.
Suddenly, the words stop flowing. What happened? A drift is vulnerable to strange intersections with banks and shoals, and nothing will ever stop that. You just need to stay in the current long enough to bounce off back into the river, free to strain the seams of tortured analogy until it falls apart into subatomic matter. Eventually, said analogy is forced into retirement, and we move on to more diverting things. An analogy can only go on so long, after all.
All this tutoring can really drain the mental stamina. It's fortunate that these improvisational pieces don't have to be about anything in particular, just a stream of what passes for consciousness set against a backdrop of 'Mission Impossible' and whatever else might be going on. Yes, as long as it works, it works! There was another for improvising that used to be used here, though. What was it? Was it 'extemporise', perhaps? There's nothing like a nice bit of extemporisation and introspection to really get the brain going. This piece could go on forever, given more time, but time is always the thing we lack most.
What would people do if they time enough at last? Would the world settle into a happy and contented place? It would be nice to take the positive view, that a utopia would sweep over the world, never to leave again. Isn't that a nicer target than the dystopian visions supplied elsewhere?
O.
Suddenly, the words stop flowing. What happened? A drift is vulnerable to strange intersections with banks and shoals, and nothing will ever stop that. You just need to stay in the current long enough to bounce off back into the river, free to strain the seams of tortured analogy until it falls apart into subatomic matter. Eventually, said analogy is forced into retirement, and we move on to more diverting things. An analogy can only go on so long, after all.
All this tutoring can really drain the mental stamina. It's fortunate that these improvisational pieces don't have to be about anything in particular, just a stream of what passes for consciousness set against a backdrop of 'Mission Impossible' and whatever else might be going on. Yes, as long as it works, it works! There was another for improvising that used to be used here, though. What was it? Was it 'extemporise', perhaps? There's nothing like a nice bit of extemporisation and introspection to really get the brain going. This piece could go on forever, given more time, but time is always the thing we lack most.
What would people do if they time enough at last? Would the world settle into a happy and contented place? It would be nice to take the positive view, that a utopia would sweep over the world, never to leave again. Isn't that a nicer target than the dystopian visions supplied elsewhere?
O.
Monday, 25 July 2016
Story: 'Wordspace' Phase II, Part III
( Part II , IV )
Dream had been gone a long time. On the other hand, she had never really been gone at all, and had merely been asleep on a different plane of existence. The Wordspace had rolled on without her, and while she slept, the others dreamed. No sleep lasts forever, however, and so Dream awoke on a tuft of punctuation near the Well of Vocabulary, and stretched on the symbology luxuriously. It took a while before she woke up enough to realise how quiet everything was. She popped open an eye, and looked around. The Well was quiet, as it always was, and School was nowhere near. That was strange. School never ventured far from the Well.
Dream got up, stiffly flexing her syllables in the process, and wandered over to the origin point for new words. It was a hole, with a small surrounding bank of bricked up letters, and the usual wet content of Hs and Os. She still found it hard to believe that she had crawled out of there, just like any other juvenile word, gaping at the magnificent world all around her. It was a black pool...
"Good grief! Dream!" Boomed a voice, and before she knew it she had been swept up in a massive hug. It was a very familiar experience.
"Justice!" She managed to squeeze out the greeting. ``What's wrong?''
"We thought you had gone forever!"
"It was just a little sleep."
"You've been gone for a hundred and fifty cycles, Dream!" Another hug, but this time less punishing.
"A hundred and fifty cycles?"
"And we're in a state of crisis. You had best come with me." Justice pulled Dream along behind him, and around a small hillock. There, in a shocking turn of events to Dream, was a little trapdoor set into the bedrock of the Wordspace. She stared at in shock. Justice looked at her, faking his own turn at surprise. "Yes, some things have changed, and not openly. Will you come with me?"
Dream could only say yes, caught up as she was in the dream-like aspects of what was going on.
Her old friend opened the door. "Come on then! Who knows when that invader might arrive here?!" Justice scooted down the tunnel. To somewhere entirely new to the knowledge of the Wordspace. The foundation was supposed to be inviolable. Still confused, she entered the tunnel herself. Mystery would be proud of her, she thought, wherever he might be.
More? Of course more!
Dream had been gone a long time. On the other hand, she had never really been gone at all, and had merely been asleep on a different plane of existence. The Wordspace had rolled on without her, and while she slept, the others dreamed. No sleep lasts forever, however, and so Dream awoke on a tuft of punctuation near the Well of Vocabulary, and stretched on the symbology luxuriously. It took a while before she woke up enough to realise how quiet everything was. She popped open an eye, and looked around. The Well was quiet, as it always was, and School was nowhere near. That was strange. School never ventured far from the Well.
Dream got up, stiffly flexing her syllables in the process, and wandered over to the origin point for new words. It was a hole, with a small surrounding bank of bricked up letters, and the usual wet content of Hs and Os. She still found it hard to believe that she had crawled out of there, just like any other juvenile word, gaping at the magnificent world all around her. It was a black pool...
"Good grief! Dream!" Boomed a voice, and before she knew it she had been swept up in a massive hug. It was a very familiar experience.
"Justice!" She managed to squeeze out the greeting. ``What's wrong?''
"We thought you had gone forever!"
"It was just a little sleep."
"You've been gone for a hundred and fifty cycles, Dream!" Another hug, but this time less punishing.
"A hundred and fifty cycles?"
"And we're in a state of crisis. You had best come with me." Justice pulled Dream along behind him, and around a small hillock. There, in a shocking turn of events to Dream, was a little trapdoor set into the bedrock of the Wordspace. She stared at in shock. Justice looked at her, faking his own turn at surprise. "Yes, some things have changed, and not openly. Will you come with me?"
Dream could only say yes, caught up as she was in the dream-like aspects of what was going on.
Her old friend opened the door. "Come on then! Who knows when that invader might arrive here?!" Justice scooted down the tunnel. To somewhere entirely new to the knowledge of the Wordspace. The foundation was supposed to be inviolable. Still confused, she entered the tunnel herself. Mystery would be proud of her, she thought, wherever he might be.
More? Of course more!
Saturday, 23 July 2016
Galactic
The word 'galactic' is inextricably bound up in the original idea of the Milky Way. Our galaxy was thought to be the only galaxy in existence for a long time, and as a result 'galaxy' is a very milky direct translation. Galactic doesn't just describe things that relate to galaxies, but also a generally milky nature. That's right, whenever you describe anything in terms of the galaxy, then you're just as equally saying they came from a dairy farm! It's amazing what you can find on that Phrontistery site...
Oh, our marvellous galaxy, what a wonderful thing to think about. A massive swirl of stars spiralling out from its cosmic core. What might it look like from the outside? Is it really like the picture of Andromeda we normally use to represent the Milky Way? What imagery to use in naming the galaxy! What on Earth is in that cosmic core, anyway?
Can you imagine what it must have been like, in the time of the ancient Greeks? Can you imagine a land with so little light pollution that you could see the great and dim band of concentrated stars that form the galactic plane, and to call that vast whiteness the 'Milky Circle', which would be translated later into the 'Milky Way'? Throughout history, we have kept that name alive in Europe, while other equally lyrical names emerged from the rest of the world. In China, they called it the Silver Way, while in Georgia the galaxy is called 'The Deer Jump', and in Thailand it has the enigmatic 'Way Of The White Elephant'. Can you imagine such a scope for imagination?
Perhaps our blindness to the galaxy is one of the reasons that exploration has faltered in the twenty-first century. We can barely see the stars now, and so we don't remember they're out there, waiting for the people to go and see them before the end of the universe. We'll have to make some advances, though, and invent most of the technology seen in 'Star Trek' to do it. Who knows? Perhaps there will be other people there, taking a look of their own?
The stars are still there, if you look for them. And they remain more than a little milky.
O.
Oh, our marvellous galaxy, what a wonderful thing to think about. A massive swirl of stars spiralling out from its cosmic core. What might it look like from the outside? Is it really like the picture of Andromeda we normally use to represent the Milky Way? What imagery to use in naming the galaxy! What on Earth is in that cosmic core, anyway?
Can you imagine what it must have been like, in the time of the ancient Greeks? Can you imagine a land with so little light pollution that you could see the great and dim band of concentrated stars that form the galactic plane, and to call that vast whiteness the 'Milky Circle', which would be translated later into the 'Milky Way'? Throughout history, we have kept that name alive in Europe, while other equally lyrical names emerged from the rest of the world. In China, they called it the Silver Way, while in Georgia the galaxy is called 'The Deer Jump', and in Thailand it has the enigmatic 'Way Of The White Elephant'. Can you imagine such a scope for imagination?
Perhaps our blindness to the galaxy is one of the reasons that exploration has faltered in the twenty-first century. We can barely see the stars now, and so we don't remember they're out there, waiting for the people to go and see them before the end of the universe. We'll have to make some advances, though, and invent most of the technology seen in 'Star Trek' to do it. Who knows? Perhaps there will be other people there, taking a look of their own?
The stars are still there, if you look for them. And they remain more than a little milky.
O.
Thursday, 21 July 2016
Board Game: 'Robo Rally' (1994)
It's a great game indeed that makes it into the pages of the Quirky Muffin. This time, the game in question is 'Robo Rally', the programming game that sees you setting out sequences of actions to guide your robot from A to B to C, only for unforeseen circumstances to send it careening from spinner to conveyor belt to gaping pit instead. It's a great game, and one which can definitely be classified in the same way as 'Carcassonne', 'Ticket To Ride' and 'Tales of the Arabian Nights', as the perfect encapsulation of a mechanic. 'Carcassonne' is the archetypal tile laying game, 'Ticket To Ride' embodies set collection and pushing your luck, and 'Tales' is the perfect realisation of storytelling and reading. In its place, 'Robo Rally' is the ultimate in programming and mayhem. I do love an archetypal game!
Now, don't be put off by the idea of a 'programming' game, as it's not really what you think. At the beginning of each round, you choose the five actions that your robot will make, in order, as will every other player, aiming to get to the next check-point on the map. The ultimate goal is to reach the finish line first and win the race. There may be collisions, laser accidents, falls into pits, spins on the turntables or even misadventures on the conveyor belts of doom! There is no knowing beforehand what will go wrong or what you have forgotten, and once you set off there is no going back. It's a wonderful game experience.
It can also be an odd experience, though, if you don't follow the advice of the illustrious Tom Vasel of the Dice Tower. He does sometimes know what he's talking about, especially when it comes to throwing out badly conceived rules. To play 'Robo Rally' well, you have to ditch the 'three lives' aspect, build small and tight courses of no more than three or four checkpoints, and perhaps even remove the pre-inflicted damage to replacement robots. Also, to avoid a lot of fuss, get some eight-sided dice to monitor player progress instead of fiddling with the tiny tiles! If you do all that, and don't take it too seriously, then a great game is there to be enjoyed.
A programming board game... Who would have thought that would be good? Who would have thought that forgetting to include the motion of a turntable would wreak such havoc, or that that tiny little pit would be so hard to avoid after the conveyor belt makes your plans just a little 'kaka'?
O.
Now, don't be put off by the idea of a 'programming' game, as it's not really what you think. At the beginning of each round, you choose the five actions that your robot will make, in order, as will every other player, aiming to get to the next check-point on the map. The ultimate goal is to reach the finish line first and win the race. There may be collisions, laser accidents, falls into pits, spins on the turntables or even misadventures on the conveyor belts of doom! There is no knowing beforehand what will go wrong or what you have forgotten, and once you set off there is no going back. It's a wonderful game experience.
It can also be an odd experience, though, if you don't follow the advice of the illustrious Tom Vasel of the Dice Tower. He does sometimes know what he's talking about, especially when it comes to throwing out badly conceived rules. To play 'Robo Rally' well, you have to ditch the 'three lives' aspect, build small and tight courses of no more than three or four checkpoints, and perhaps even remove the pre-inflicted damage to replacement robots. Also, to avoid a lot of fuss, get some eight-sided dice to monitor player progress instead of fiddling with the tiny tiles! If you do all that, and don't take it too seriously, then a great game is there to be enjoyed.
A programming board game... Who would have thought that would be good? Who would have thought that forgetting to include the motion of a turntable would wreak such havoc, or that that tiny little pit would be so hard to avoid after the conveyor belt makes your plans just a little 'kaka'?
O.
Tuesday, 19 July 2016
Eirenism
The great thing about a weekend away, and a cumulative twelve hours on the coach, is that your mind clears completely of the comparatively trivial things that normally get in the way. Yes, thought occurs in between compulsive page turning of 'No Name' or Mark Twain's 'Joan of Arc', but what kind of thought? It's hard to say, as it drifts away with the miles.
Ah, Quirky Muffin, what are we to do now? Leisure time is over once again, and the gruelling slog that is Summer is upon us, complete with a thoroughly unpleasant heat wave, that threatens to convert the whole country into a sweaty mess. The endless murk and cloud have departed, and for what? Sunburn and a desperate desire to find a cool cave and shelter there for the next three to six years? You can never be too careful.
Perhaps we could now, after a long absence, dip into the Phrontistery once again and review some of the rarer words that don't get used any more. Perusing under the letter 'E', a particular and topical example soon pops out from the others:
eirenism: peaceful state of mind.
Yes, extended coach trips are conducice to eirenisms when you least expect them, except in the most extreme of circumstances. Sometimes, when packed in with too many items in a sweltering heat, and with elbows poking into your ribs, other states of mind might be far more likely! When you think about it, tranquility is one of the most prized and rare states of the modern age, and one often thrown away in the endless quest for things unowned. Maybe we should work toward some form of eirenism instead? Good grief, I hope there's not some implication to the word that I know nothing about...
Runner-up words for the day are the following, with a special emphasis on 'empleomania'. Aren't rare words wonderful and enchanting?
eclipsareon: astronomical toy used to show phenomena of solar and lunar eclipses.
empleomania: mania for holding public office.
euphonism: custom of using pleasing sounding words.
Let's all try to relax, spin and not to swelter. The horrific Summer of news is now over, and we can get back to being deeply decadent. Aaaaahhh...
O.
Ah, Quirky Muffin, what are we to do now? Leisure time is over once again, and the gruelling slog that is Summer is upon us, complete with a thoroughly unpleasant heat wave, that threatens to convert the whole country into a sweaty mess. The endless murk and cloud have departed, and for what? Sunburn and a desperate desire to find a cool cave and shelter there for the next three to six years? You can never be too careful.
Perhaps we could now, after a long absence, dip into the Phrontistery once again and review some of the rarer words that don't get used any more. Perusing under the letter 'E', a particular and topical example soon pops out from the others:
eirenism: peaceful state of mind.
Yes, extended coach trips are conducice to eirenisms when you least expect them, except in the most extreme of circumstances. Sometimes, when packed in with too many items in a sweltering heat, and with elbows poking into your ribs, other states of mind might be far more likely! When you think about it, tranquility is one of the most prized and rare states of the modern age, and one often thrown away in the endless quest for things unowned. Maybe we should work toward some form of eirenism instead? Good grief, I hope there's not some implication to the word that I know nothing about...
Runner-up words for the day are the following, with a special emphasis on 'empleomania'. Aren't rare words wonderful and enchanting?
eclipsareon: astronomical toy used to show phenomena of solar and lunar eclipses.
empleomania: mania for holding public office.
euphonism: custom of using pleasing sounding words.
Let's all try to relax, spin and not to swelter. The horrific Summer of news is now over, and we can get back to being deeply decadent. Aaaaahhh...
O.
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