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Was anyone paging Doctor Nemo?

Okay, here I am, and here you all are.  It’s Saturday, and I’m getting ready to go to work, and I’m writing another blog post.  Isn’t it exciting?

Well, no.  No, it’s not exciting.  Nothing is exciting, at least not for me.  The wind is well and truly out of my sails.  The sea is becalmed, but not in a nice, pleasant way such as might bode well for a bit of snorkeling (or whatever else for which a calm sea in decent locales might be good).  No, it’s more like being in a sailboat (with no backup motor, nor even any oars) on a windless day (and week and month and year) at Point Nemo*.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, Point Nemo is a spot in the south Pacific that is the remotest location on Earth‒meaning it is the place that is farthest away from any and all human habitation and from other humans.  It’s not really in the major shipping lanes, either, as far as I know.  Why would it be?  Shipping happens from one human place to another human place, so it’s unlikely (though not impossible) that such routes will pass through the most remote place on Earth.  You don’t go from Spain to Morocco via the Sahara Desert.

It’s said that, at the right time, if you are at point Nemo, you are closer to the astronauts in the ISS than you are to any humans on the surface of the Earth.

I’ll admit that, at times, being so isolated sounds enticing.  But it’s one thing to be isolated by choice, because one needs a break, or one wishes to do some meditation, some soul-searching, some introspection.  That can be healthy, beneficial, ego syntonic in the right circumstances.

It’s another thing to be stranded in Point Nemo by oneself, having formerly had traveling companions.  Perhaps you had been part of a flotilla or even an armada, but gradually, everyone else had to go to other destinations, along other routes, because that was just what they had to do.  But you got turned around, your Sat-Nav failed, as did the LORAN, and the skies were cloudy so you couldn’t see the stars to navigate, until it was too late.

Then, the skies cleared and the wind calmed and all rain stopped, and now you can see where you are:  the remotest spot on the planet.  And you’re running out of supplies, including fresh water, you have no fishing gear, and it’s more likely that you’ll encounter a deorbiting satellite than another ship or boat (many space agencies deliberately deorbit retired satellites so that they fall on Point Nemo since that’s where it’s least likely that they will cause any trouble).

I’m sure Point Nemo has its charms.  On a clear night, the stars must appear more beautiful and vivid there than nearly anywhere else on Earth, with no interference from the lights of human habitations.

In an analogous sense, I’ve probably read and thought about various things on my own that I would not have read and thought about if I had human interactions (outside work), and that’s…nice, I guess?  But one can only survive so long without supplies.

The question then can become, does one simply wait until one succumbs to thirst or hunger, perhaps hoping that one might win the metaphorical lottery and have some vessel happen nearby enough that one is noticed and rescued?  Or does one, perhaps, decide to go for a long, one-way swim?

Oy, what a strained metaphor.  Sorry about that.

Anyway, today I’ll work, and some other people will come to the office, but not everyone.  And then I’ll go back to the house, and I’ll take some OTC stuff to help me sleep longer, if not better, and then tomorrow I’ll do my laundry and then walk to the bank and then just…kill time until Monday morning, when it will be time to go back to the office.  And then the same will happen Tuesday and Wednesday and so on and on, until something or someone** kills me.

Maybe I should just knock a hole in the hull of my boat.

Anyway, I hope you all have a good weekend.

*Nemo means “no one” in Latin (“not man”, or “not human”).  This was the source of the name for Jules Verne’s Captain Nemo, from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

**Technically, every someone is a something, but we usually tend to keep the ideas separate, presumably because of some sense of agency in the someones.  Also, for some reason (or at least by some cause) a lot of people seem to feel insulted if they are referred to as things, though there is nothing inherently insulting in that fact.  People are stupid, sometimes; or as Marullus referred to them in Julius Caesar, “You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!”  See?  Things.

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Who knows what evil lurks in the ears of men?

Well, it’s Friday again at last, and of course, I’m writing another edition of my daily blog post.  I will also be writing one tomorrow, since I will work tomorrow, exclusis improvisis.  I’m writing this on the desktop computer in the office, because I slept in the office last night‒I was on the phone with my sister until it was…well, not impossible to go back to the house, but pointless.

I feel I might have slept better here in the office than I would have back at the house.  Admittedly, that’s not a very high bar, and we’re doing hurdles, not the limbo, so a non-high bar makes things easy.  The air conditioning is not only somewhat better at the office, it’s not noisy, since it’s a rooftop unit.  The one at the house is definitely just a room unit, and it makes significant noise, as does the floor fan with which I supplement its effects.

Of course, during the day, the office is noisy with the stupid background music that’s constantly playing, nominally so the salespeople don’t get distracted by other salespeople’s conversations, but I think that’s dubious.  Possibly, it makes it harder to hear exactly what they’re saying, but I’m not always even sure of that.

I’ve worked in many places, from golf courses to laboratories to factory floors to big ships and, of course, doctors’ offices and hospitals.  I’ve never been in any previous job where people thought that they needed to have noise in the background to be able to work.

Almost anyone, I suspect, would find significantly loud music actually distracting from any job that requires mental effort.  I certainly do.  It’s so much easier for me to accomplish tasks here in the office when no one else is here and there’s no frikking overhead noise.

Although, it is sometimes harder to ignore my tinnitus‒in both ears, but much worse in my right ear‒when I’m in a quiet room, but for the most part I can at least not pay attention to it.  When other things are quieter and there is less chaos and irritation around me, chronic pains like tinnitus (yes, I think it qualifies as a kind of pain, though it’s nothing at all compared to my back and joint pains) are easier to keep in perspective.

It’s interesting that my right ear‒the dexter one, if you will‒is quite a bit worse than my left, or sinister one.  If I were inclined to find meaning in such things, which I am not‒I merely find them interesting and amusing‒I might think it said something about the progression of my moral nature, with the right or good side of me diminished and in constant pain and noise, while the left, sinister, dark side of me has remained acute, and indeed has become relatively dominant.

Maybe that would be a fun idea for a short story:  A guy loses the hearing in his right ear and suddenly finds that, with his left ear, he can hear all sorts of things with dark and evil implications.  Maybe he even starts hearing some of the dark thoughts people have around him.  Maybe he starts gathering and taking advantage of these secrets and other evil facts for his own ends, and so becomes more and more sinister himself.

It being a short story, one could just end it there, with evil ascendant and the protagonist looking forward to a life of malign but profitable activity that takes advantage of his ability.  Or perhaps we could do an O. Henry, Twilight Zone kind of entry and have the man suddenly start to lose the hearing in his left ear as well, all sound now subsumed by tinnitus that he cannot ignore, until finally he breaks and screams and…I don’t know, throws himself out of a high window to his death.

The story could be called simply Auris Sinistra, which is Latin for “left ear”, a fact which is probably obvious.  Or maybe it could even be Auris Mea Sinistra, or “My Left Ear”, though that might sound (ha ha) like it’s trying to be a parody of My Left Foot, which is definitely a different kind of story.

I considered Auris Mea Sinistra Mala, “My Evil Left Ear”, but that feels clunky and is a bit redundant.  It also rather ruins the play on the word sinister, which has come to mean evil or malign, thanks to the idiotic historical bigotry against left handed people, but which originally just meant “left” as opposed to “right”.  And of course, “right” became somewhat synonymous with “good” for related reasons.

These are all fossilized remnants of the magical thinking and foolishness of humans over time.  I wish I could say we had left all such things behind, but I cannot.  Well, I could say it, of course; in a sense, I just did.  But I would not be telling the truth, even though I know what the truth is.  Doing that would be wrong.  It would be dishonest.  It would be unkind.  It would be malevolent.  You might even say that it would be…

…nefarious.

Anyway, Spero vobis omnibus diem bonum fore.  I don’t know for sure that the grammar there is correct, but it’s what Google Translate gave me.  It certainly seems okay based on my Latin knowledge, such as it is.  That’s no quod erat demonstrandum, of course, but it works for me.  At least, it does so when there isn’t too much noise.

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It is an heretic that makes the fire, not she which blogs in ‘t.

Hello and good morning.  I hope you all (or “y’all”) are having an excellent set of coterminous, parallel days.

Of course, the day proper, that passage of time between one midnight and the next (in your time zone) is just one day, in that prosaic sense, no matter how many people it carries along through time with it.  On the other hand, from a certain point of view, each person goes through a separate (but parallel) individual day, which no one else experiences in exactly the same way.

It’s a bit like comparing the spacetime interval between two points (events) in spacetime‒a measure on which every observer will agree, if they are measuring it correctly‒and the “proper” time and individual spacetime path followed by a traveler through spacetime, such as we all are.

Or, to put it perhaps more prosaically:  One can get from the base of a hill/mountain to its summit by hiking, by ATVing, by mountain biking, by donkey, by free solo climbing, by being brought to the peak by helicopter, etc.  There is only one summit, and its absolute distance from the base (assuming one common starting point) is a fixed fact.  But each person’s experience in going from one to the other will be different, each path of slightly different length, taking different amounts of time, with different sights and sounds and smells along the way.

Such is life.  Such is reality.  There are many possible paths to any given destination.  Likewise, there are many different destinations from any given starting point.  I guess these are some reasons why it’s usually best not to get too hung up on trying to go as straight as possible toward your goal.

If you look only into the distance, you will fail to see the possible obstacles in your path (until they make themselves unmissable) and so will fail to steer around them.  Likewise, you may fail to notice an alternative path that will lead you to an alternative, better destination than the one you had in mind.

Look at me, talking as if I were wise.  Well, I suppose I do have some wisdom, and at least when one shares what seem like good ideas with other people, one can get different perspectives that might improve one’s own understanding.

As Forrest Gump said, though, stupid is as stupid does.  The proof of the pudding is in the eating, in other words.  One may have terrific innate ability, one may have a capacity for greatness such as would stagger the most phlegmatic observer, but if one wastes one’s life in predictably destructive and self-destructive pursuits, bringing little but misery to oneself and others before dying in a gutter, one hardly merits the term “genius”, except perhaps if it is being used ironically.

Of course, all of our journeys finally end in the same place, unless there is some loophole to bypass the second law of thermodynamics*, so it’s probably worthwhile just trying to get the most you can out of whatever path you happen to take.  And if doing so were entirely and readily in our own power, then having a good life would be so common as to be trivial.

Alas, evolution has no clear tendency or basis to select for creatures readily able to have a “good” life; it just tends to create situations in which the things that replicate best (in whatever the local circumstances) replicate most.  This requires no intention on the part of evolution‒which is good, because it shows no signs of having intention, nor is there any reason to suspect that it has any.  It’s simply what actually happens when things are left to themselves.  That which replicates best and most often comes to dominate over things that do so less well and less often.  The rest, as Hillel said, is commentary.

Okay, anyway, that’s a lot of water drawn from the stream of my consciousness.  I make no guarantees that drinking from it will not poison you.  But I can honestly say that I do not intend to poison you; I am merely expressing my thoughts as they happen, speaking my mind as it were.

In other news, today is Guy Fawkes Day in Britain, commemorating the failure of Guy Fawkes to blow up the houses of Parliament on “this day” way back in 1605 (Julian calendar).  Of course, many modern people, especially those outside of the UK, know of Guy Fawkes mainly thanks to the excellent graphic novel (and movie) V for Vendetta**.

But in that work, we are given a different perspective on the Guy and his like than is central to “Bonfire Night”, and we see how one person’s “terrorist” can be another person’s legitimate “freedom fighter”.  Not all terrorists, of course, are real-life analogues of V.  Many, perhaps most (including the original Guy Fawkes, probably) are self-important, self-righteous dogmatists who want to try to force their ways onto others or to eliminate those they see as evil or inferior.

Oh well, whatever.  Happy Guy Fawkes Day, wherever you are.

TTFN

*Such luminaries as Einstein and Eddington, as well as countless other thinkers besides, consider this the law of nature that is least likely ever to be overthrown.  This is partly because it is based, ultimately, on basic probability, on mathematics, and is not dependent upon the specific trivia of nature in any given universe, e.g., the fine structure constant, the gravitational constant, the speed of light/causality, the mass ratio of the electron to the proton, etc.  Probability and statistics apply to essentially all sufficiently complex systems.

**And, to a lesser extent, from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter stories, in which Dumbledore has a phoenix named Fawkes (a nod to the fact that Guys Fawkes Day is celebrated with bonfires in which effigies of Fawkes are burned, as was the original man).  Rowling tends not to explain her jokes‒a very refreshing habit in an author‒she just puts them there for those to see who are able.

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Happy birthday, Mom

It’s Wednesday, November 4th‒my Mother’s birthday, as you might have guessed from the headline.  She would have turned 85 today, unless I’m miscalculating, misremembering, doing both, or am making some other unknown error type thrown into that mix.

I miss her; she was a good mother.  But she wasn’t terribly good at taking care of herself, health-wise, at least not for her own sake.  I suppose that’s an attribute that I’ve inherited, in a probably more purified form.  Either that or it’s simply a fact that culture‒probably quite by accident‒arranged for support structures for her, and for my Dad, in the form of each other and of nearby family, which I lack.  For instance, neither my parents nor my grandparents (to the best of my knowledge) ever got divorced.

I don’t think either my Mom or my Dad would even have considered divorce.  It wasn’t an option for them to break up with their chosen life partner; it just wasn’t in their nature, as far as I can see (also, they didn’t want to do so).  I don’t think it’s in my nature, either.

How’s that, you ask?  I’m divorced; how can I be a “mate for life” kind of animal?  It’s not a contradiction.  It’s simply a fact that I was divorced.  Divorce happened to me.  This is deliberate passive construction.  I would never have seriously considered divorcing my wife, nor cheating on her.  It’s not the way my operating system works.  But in the same fashion, I would not consider trying to hinder my wife from splitting away and trying to achieve her happiness if she could.  If she was unhappy with me, it would hardly be an act of love to try to keep her against her better judgment.

I could try to persuade her, of course, and I did try.  But you can probably imagine how poorly I did that.  I am not good at advertising or promoting myself.  I’m not even a fan of myself (though I do like my writing and my drawing and my music well enough).  Anyway, she went on and did her thing and continues to do it, and as far as I can tell, she is doing well.  I cannot think that’s a bad thing.

On the other hand, I am not the sort to try to find someone else and “start again” or whatever.  It had never been my dream or expectation to fall in love and start a family in the first place; it just happened, and that was great.  But that’s that.

Anyway, it’s now today, as it always seems to be.  I am not in the best of moods, not even for me.  And I am lonely, of course.  But I continue to trudge along, because that’s what I think I am supposed to do.  I continue to have all my chronic pain issues, obviously, but I’m sure they’re almost as unpleasant to read about as to experience‒not quite, of course, I’m as sure of that as I can be, but I am similarly sure it can be quite unpleasant to read about them.

Still, that’s me as well, it seems:  unpleasant.  I have it on good authority that I am an unpleasant person, and it’s not just on my own (though I concur).

I guess “authority” doesn’t really apply here, does it?  First of all, unpleasantness is a subjective assessment, not a fundamental attribute of a thing itself.  Different people find different things pleasant and unpleasant.  Oh, of course, there are things and people that would be found unpleasant (or pleasant) by a majority of people, but it’s hard to consider it likely that anyone or anything will be universally loved or universally hated.

No one can be an “authority” on what the “best” dessert is, for instance.  They can be a relative authority on what their favorite dessert is, but even that is something that can change from moment to moment, let alone across one’s lifetime.  And one can probably only speculate, at best, about why one prefers a particular dessert to another, or why that preference changes.

As for favorite deserts, well, I suspect most people wouldn’t have a preformed opinion if you asked them.  With desserts they might, since food and food preferences are discussed and considered relatively often in a typical modern life.  But deserts?  I think even those who dwell in deserts rarely bother assessing their favorites.

My own favorite desert‒a determination I’m considering for the first time now, as far as I can recall‒would probably be the Atacama Desert in South America.  I like it because in and near it, there in the Andes, are some major telescopes/observatories which take advantage of the high altitudes and very dry air to get exceptionally good “seeing”.

That’s been a peculiar stream of thought, hasn’t it?  I guess that’s fine.  I have nothing better to do, in any case.  I’m having a hard time even finding any books interesting.  And all of the billions of videos available through YouTube seem boring after ever-shortening periods of time.

I really should just get in the habit of meditating more.  If it gets me too depressed, well, maybe I could at least be as (ironically) cool as that famous monk who immolated himself in protest back in the day; through the whole process, he was remarkably still.  He may have died, but it was a triumph.  To paraphrase The Old Man and the Sea, he was destroyed, but he was not defeated.

I’m already defeated, of course, so I have one less thing about which to worry.  I might as well be destroyed at this point, right?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  I hope you all have a good day, individually and collectively.

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Smartphones, foolish humans, and vanishingly small giant numbers

Well, I’m writing this post on my smartphone today, not on the lapcom.

I’m okay with the term “smartphone”, unlike the term “laptop”.  It’s reasonably accurate, after all.  Especially compared to the phones with which I grew up, it is a very smart phone indeed.  I remember being quite excited when we got our first push-button phone, let alone one with “call waiting”.

Heck, this phone is very smart even relative to the first and second full-on desktop computers I “owned”*.  Those were an Apple II+™ and a Macintosh SE®, respectively.  Yes, I used to love Apple©.

Today is a big day in American** politics.  It’s the day of the midterm elections.  Of course, I cannot participate in that process, since the State of Florida disenfranchised everyone who had ever been convicted of a felony, even if it was the result of a coercive plea-bargain, even after they have served their sentences.

Of course, in a referendum, the people of Florida voted to amend the Florida constitution to correct that injustice and grant ex-cons the “right” to vote.

And then, instantly, the bottom feeders in the Florida legislature‒to a good first approximation, all of them are bottom feeders‒attached a bunch of legal hoops to jump through before someone could regain that “right”, hoops which many people, including me, find just not workable.

The people doing this disenfranchising almost certainly did so deliberately to influence elections, since the demographics of people who have actually been convicted of felonies tend to be quite different from those of people who can afford to pay for an adequate defense.

Anyway, let me not get going on that subject too much, except to say that I consider it a severe divergence from the spirit of the United States as represented in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  Florida isn’t the only state that misses the point of the US, but they are among the most prominent and the most mentally deficient.

Oh, well.  What are you gonna do?  Any place where people can unironically use such phrases as “requesting the restoration of one’s rights” is a place of sophistry‒if even that‒not of actual rationality.  I say this because actual rights cannot be taken away nor returned.  They can be violated, of course, and sometimes this violation can be necessary and even morally right***, but they cannot be removed or restored by the action of some group of one’s fellow flesh-and-bloodlings.  Such things as those are better referred to as privileges.  George Carlin had a pretty good routine about that.

Anyway, again, I am not going to get into too much of the specifics of politics.  I think politics is important, in a relative sense, but only to humans and their chattel and to those within their sphere**** of influence.

But humans’ attitude toward such politics is often very melodramatic and even tragi-comic.  They seem to think that what happens to be happening right here and right now is the most consequential thing in the universe, ever (and not merely in a mindfulness sort of way).  It’s a frankly absurd, almost hilarious, solipsistic anthropocentrism:  what humans are doing right here and right now is the most important set of facts in all the universe, ever.

Alas, humans and human civilization and even all life on Earth from its beginning up to now***** are not merely cosmically tiny, not merely negligible, but to a very good****** approximation, they are nonexistent.  That’s not an insult, necessarily; after all, on the scale of infinity, even the largest number you can name is unreasonably close to zero.  Compared to infinity, everything finite is a rounding error on nonexistence, whether it’s one or pi or Graham’s Number or Tree(3) or anything else.

Kansas (the band, not the state) was being generous and a bit indulgent when they sang “all we are is dust in the wind”.

Dust in the wind?  Are you joking?  What in the world gave you the hubris to entertain the ridiculous, megalomaniacal delusion that you (or anyone or everyone around you) are as significant as dust in the wind?

With that cheerful thought, I’ll wrap this up.  Just reassure yourself that, not only is it true that in a hundred years no one will care; for almost everything, in a hundred seconds no one will care.

Have a good day anyway, despite all that.  It’s certainly possible.

*My Dad actually owned that first one, but he was not a computer hog.

**By which I mean “United Statesian” politics, but there really isn’t a good name for citizens of the United States that doesn’t require multiple words.  But, of course, every citizen of Mexico and of Canada and of El Salvador and of Brazil and of Chile, and so on‒everyone in North and South America‒can be legitimately called American.  I wonder how many of the ignoramuses who cheered for “Gulf of America” and “Lake America” actually realize that.

***For instance, we (officially) hold it to be self-evident that the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are unalienable, and apply at the very least to all humans.  And yet, if someone is a true danger to others, all of whom have the same rights, and if that person cannot be convinced not to harm other people, it may be necessary to violate that person’s rights‒for instance by imprisoning them, or even by killing them if they are an immediate threat to others and there is no workable alternative.  It may be truly necessary and the best possible course of action, given specific circumstances, but I maintain it is still a violation of rights.  It may merely be the smallest set of such violations available and within the power of any group of mere humans.  But if one were omnipotent and omniscient, then one could merely adjust the settings of the dangerous person to keep them from being a danger to others and then allowing them to live and pursue their own relatively non-pathological happiness freely after that.

****I think it’s fair to use the term “sphere” here, because even though the dimensionality of that sphere is probably much greater than three, mathematically that’s fine.  There are four-spheres and twelve-spheres and so on.  A sphere is simply that collection of points, all of which are equidistant from some chosen center point.  Mathematically, a circle (for instance) is just a “two-sphere”, a sphere in two dimensions.  And I suppose any two points on a line could be said to constitute a one-sphere.  I don’t think it’s possible to have fractal spheres, i.e., a sphere in non-integer dimensions, but if I’m wrong, I would sincerely love to be corrected and educated by any mathematicians out there.

*****The future could in principle break this pattern, but I’m not holding my breath.

******How good an approximation?  Better than the most precise estimate that you’ve ever encountered or imagined encountering in your day-to-day life, even if your work involves measuring the magnetic moment of electrons.  99 and 44/100ths percent pure is galactically farther away from accurate compared to how closely all life ever on Earth approximates zero.  I think I get into that in the following video.

 

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Walking in the rain and writing using the lapcom…but not at the same time

I think this may end up being my last lapcom blog post for a while.

As you may have guessed from the fact that I just said that—it is, after all, the logical implication—I am writing this post on my lapcom, which I remembered to bring back to the house on Friday.  Bully for me, right?

Unfortunately, so far it hasn’t made much, if any, difference in the arthropathy—or at least arthralgia—in the bases of my thumbs.  I think just taking extra doses of NSAIDs beyond my usual seems to do as good a job on my thumbs as decreasing my use of the smartphone, and it’s not as annoying to have to carry.

I don’t really have to carry NSAIDs, actually.  I keep plenty of them at the house and at work.  This is not a luxury; it is a relative necessity.  By which I mean, while it’s not true that I would die without them, I would want to die even more than I usually do if I were not to have them available.

So, in a sense, I suppose going without them increases my risk of dying.  But then again, using them at maximum dose on a regular basis has its own risks, including to my kidneys and stomach (other things as well, but those are the main ones).

Of course, I take things to protect my stomach (and try to drink plenty of water to ease my kidneys as much as possible), but that decrease in stomach acid probably affects the absorption of a number of minerals, such as iron.  And so, I supplement those.  And so the cycle goes on, even without anyone pedaling it.

Sorry to mix that metaphor, or whatever the proper term is for what I just did.  I was unable to resist, and I didn’t see any strong reason to try to do so.

Anyway, though I can definitely write more quickly and more easily with the lapcom, I’m not convinced that it makes for better blog posts.  In fact, I get the impression that last week’s posts weren’t very well received.  Certainly, the numbers weren’t very good.  And, of course, when I go on too long, I irritate myself, as well.

That doesn’t just apply to blog writing; I have already irritated myself powerfully by “going on” as long as I have.

I did get some exercise this weekend.  I walked about four and a half miles on Saturday morning, and then on Sunday I walked a bit over five miles (not in the morning).  It was raining more or less constantly on Sunday, but I opted not to use an umbrella.  Instead, I donned a rain jacket that I had from when I used to ride my scooter* and walked in the rain.  Its hood was annoying, so after less than a block I gave up and just left it down.  It’s Florida, after all; the rain wasn’t cold in the slightest.  Honestly, I could barely tell that my head was wet, even when the rain was coming down hard.

That’s actually mildly disappointing.  I was vaguely hoping, or maybe wondering, if I might catch pneumonia, like the old cliché warnings warned about getting caught in the rain.  Of course, pneumonia isn’t caused by rain, or by any other way of getting wet.  Pneumonia is caused by bacteria mostly, occasionally by viruses, and rarely by fungi.  There is also a thing called chemical or aspiration pneumonitis, but that’s not an infection.

But getting very cold in the rain—since water is able to draw heat from the body far more effectively than air is**—can indeed use up one’s reserves of energy and make one more vulnerable to infections.  This is probably where the old wives’ tale notion arose.  But it’s just not cold in south Florida at this time of year.

Anyway, my walks didn’t end up putting me at death’s door, more’s the pity.  If anything, they have probably taken me farther away from it, at least for the moment.  That’s okay, I guess.  I mean, it’s annoying, it’s irritating, but I like to walk, and it’s nice to feel able to walk, especially given my chronic pain.  So, I’ll put up with it.

Speaking of something being irritating and annoying, I have noticed something recently—it was surely always there, though I never really paid attention to the fact—but many times when I feel that I hate something or someone (briefly) or am very angry at some situation, it’s not really a moral issue in any sense, though the feeling of anger is very often of a “self-righteous” character.  Rather, it is just annoyance, just distraction.

I can feel something very akin to pure hatred at a fly going past my head and meandering around a room in which I am sitting or standing, and I doubt that I’m alone in this.  Yet…it’s just a fly.  It’s noisy, it’s potentially dirty, it sometimes lands on one’s food, but it does essentially no actual harm and isn’t really capable of doing it***.  It’s just annoying.  It’s just irritating.  And yet, the sheer malice of the response one often feels can be staggering.

I think this is actually not much different, albeit coming from the other end of things, from how people react to people with whom they disagree, or even sometimes to the habits of a significant other that start off feeling benign and even endearing but which can become like a pebble in one’s shoe over time.  I think we overreact.  I think we give too much emotional weight to those irritations, and they then compound and develop into real animosity.  It would be better if we could keep them in perspective, if we could be mindful but not judgmental.

If you want to hate flies though, I’m fine with that.  Just try not to hate other members of your own species; they’re just as clueless as you are.  And also, try to have a good day.

*You can’t exactly use an umbrella while riding a scooter, or while riding a bike, for that matter.

**This is why being in air at seventy degrees Fahrenheit can feel pleasant, while being in water that’s the same temperature can feel quite cold.

***Mosquitoes are another matter.  They can carry diseases that still kill millions of people.

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Devil’s Night take the hindmost. Set course for Halloween. Engage.

Well, I am not writing this post on my lapcom today, but it’s not because I didn’t bring it with me when I went back to the house yesterday evening.  It’s because I didn’t go back to the house yesterday evening.

I called my sister after work yesterday, and we stayed on the phone for a couple of hours.  By the time we were done, it was one of those situations where I would just go back to the house, try to get to sleep quickly and stay asleep for a little bit, and then get back up and come into the office.  Even if I had wanted to expedite that process with an Uber or two, it wouldn’t have appreciably changed things, and it would have been expensive.  So, I ended up sleeping on the floor of the office again.

It’s not bad.  In many ways, it’s a far, far better environment in which to sleep and even to be awake than the room in which I “live”.  It is indeed a far better resting place‒maybe not than I have ever known, but than the alternative I have available.

So, it’s Friday, the 30th of October, and instead of the lapcom, I am writing this on the desktop* computer.

I will not be writing a post tomorrow‒which will be Halloween‒since I don’t work tomorrow (exclusis improvisis).  It’s a minor shame, since Halloween has long been my favorite holiday, but it’s not as though I am actually going to do anything for Halloween, anyway, except to give you the following message.

The office isn’t decorated, alas.  We used to do stuff like that, and we even did little dress-up parties, which were a bit of fun.  I like the idea of wearing costumes.  They’re quite freeing in their way.

Oddly, I’ve never actually wanted to be anyone but myself.  It’s a contradiction in terms, for one thing.  If I am someone else, then I am not myself, and I cannot experience being someone else while still being myself.

However, one can use costumes (and acting) to pretend to be someone else‒a very different idea‒and thus allow the expression of things that might not have come out otherwise.  One can even express thoughts and feelings that would not exist otherwise.

Because it’s not as though the emotions and thoughts that we have are pre-programmed; they are generated by brain processes as things go on, even as our memories are recreated rather than called up from storage every time one remembers.

Memory is an active construction.  This is part of why memories are relatively malleable.  You cannot “gaslight” a desktop computer.  It has all its files and information stored, with various documentation about time of updates, prior changes, earlier versions and so on.  It’s not going to be fooled.  And it’s likely to trust its own memory above whatever you try to tell it.

I feel slightly that way, myself.  I think I would probably be somewhat difficult to gaslight, because I trust my own memory more than I trust that of other people with whom I interact.  I know that it’s better than average.

And if someone wants to convince me that I’m incorrect about something, then I’m all for it‒I don’t want to be wrong any longer than I have to be‒but they’re going to need evidence and arguments**.

Try to think about what you would need to do to convince an intelligent but disinterested*** extraterrestrial who understood English at least as well as you do and was perfectly capable of following your reasoning and examining your evidence.  If you could convince such a being, you will probably convince me.

But if your attempts to persuade involve mere rhetoric, emotional language, conscious or unconscious manipulation based on typical primate reactions and emotions, then…well, you may make me feel uncomfortable, but I hope you won’t convince me.

Or, rather, I hope you won’t make me believe, because conviction in my mind is different than mere belief.  As my old, altered X-files poster says, “I don’t want to believe.  I want to be convinced by evidence and argument.”

Returning in closing to the matter of the date:  in addition to it being the day before Halloween, it is also what we used to call Devil’s Night back where I grew up (in the Detroit area), a curious kind of All Hallows’ Eve eve.  Now, it wasn’t as bad as is made out in, for instance, The Crow, but vandalism and especially fire-setting did happen.

I understand it’s no longer as big a problem nowadays, which is probably good.  Also, there just aren’t nearly as many people in Detroit anymore, so even if the rate per person of fire-setting stayed the same, the rate of actual fires would go down by the same fraction as did the population.

I don’t know that this is why things have changed.  It may just be a cultural shift.  The better angels of my nature are pleased and encouraged by this fact.  But there’s a not-so-tiny part of me that laments it.  Sometimes, that part of me just wants to watch everything burn‒or, really, to be the one burning it.

Don’t worry, I have no arson-related plans, whether for tonight or any other time.  Indeed, I have no plans of any kind.  Not really.  I have thoughts, I have possibilities, like the ones about which I wrote yesterday.  But I have no target, I have no direction (other than the inevitable one).  I’m not even really “chaos surfing”, as I like to call it.  I’m just sitting in one of those inflated inner-tube type things, floating along, letting the current take me where it will.

Most of the time, it’s not going anywhere, good or bad.

Anyway, I hope you all have a safe and reasonably uneventful “Devils’ Night” and a safe and fun Halloween tomorrow, if you celebrate it.  Either way, have a good weekend.

Oh, yeah, and…rest in peace, Patrick Stewart.  That’s all I have to say about that.

*A desk is a thing that has a top, sides, front, back, and even a bottom and an underneath region which are not necessarily exactly identical.  It can be perfectly sensible to speak of something being on the desk top, and so the term “desktop computer” is a sensible one.  A lap, on the other hand, very much is the top of one’s thighs (or crossed legs) when one is seated; it has only a top.  It is only a top.  So, I use the term lapcom, since “laptop” is redundant.  Now, if we had a term specifically for the top of a desk, and which only referred to that region‒maybe the fleeb, to make things a bit silly‒then it would make no sense to call something a “fleebtop” computer.  One might as well just shorten it to “fleebcom”.

**Not people aggressively talking at each other with raised voices and such like, but rather “a set of premises or reasons put forward to support, prove, or persuade someone of a specific conclusion or point of view” as per Google’s AI search thingy.

***Meaning impartial, unbiased.  Not uninterested.  Trying to convince an uninterested person is generally just a waste of effort.  They don’t care.  I am often that way, myself, depending on the subject.

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And deeper than did ever plummet sound I’ll drown my blog

Hello and good morning.  It’s Thursday, and for the 4th day in a row, I’m writing this on my lapcom.  Well, actually, I can’t be writing this—i.e., this blog post—for the 4th day in a row, lapcom or otherwise.  I am writing a blog post, and that is something I am doing on the lapcom for the 4th day in a row.  Sorry if that was confusing*.

It seems, as with yesterday’s date, that I haven’t written a post using the lapcom on the 29th of October since 2022, which feels like an inordinate amount of time.  That means I’ve been writing on the smartphone since then, barring those October 29ths that were on Sundays or non-working Saturdays.  No wonder my thumb bases have become progressively sorer.  I’m surprised they have given me more trouble than they have.

Well, I’m not actually surprised.  There’s no metaphorical gasping jolt.  It’s just that it’s not what I would have expected if I had thought about the situation ahead of time.  Of course, I don’t think I did think about the situation ahead of time; I certainly don’t recall thinking about it ahead of time.  If I had recalled such a thing, I probably wouldn’t have been even figuratively surprised.

Anyway, I ordered a couple of thumb/wrist braces that came up when I searched for such devices to counter the arthropathy associated with writing on the smartphone.  There’s even an official name for the problem.  It’s something pithy but obvious like “texter’s thumb”, though I don’t believe that is the actual standard term being used, and I can’t be arsed to look up the real one.

In any case, the braces should be arriving today.  They were the highest rated ones on Amazon, at least the highest rated ones that could arrive quickly.  We’ll see if they provide any help and if so how much.

In other news:  after talking about the subject yesterday, I decided I would reread what I’d written so far on Outlaw’s Mind, specifically the version in which I chopped off the old original “cold open”.  I had uploaded a copy of it (so far) onto Google Drive, so I’ve been able to read it on my phone, and I have to admit, it flows quite nicely.  I like it so far.

There are a few things here and there that will need tweaking to get it into shape and to eliminate the relics of the former thought process behind the story, but they’re pretty minor.  I may also read The Dark Fairy and the Desperado after that.  Who knows?  I might even reread Extra Body, which is an actually completed story, though it has not been extensively edited.

All of you can read the stories as far as they have gone, here on my blog.  If you are so inclined and want to give me feedback on of which one you might want to read more if you were given the choice, I would be interested to hear.  I’m not making any promises, but maybe if I enjoy a story (so far) and you guys are interested, that might spur me to action.

It would be interesting to see if I could write a serialized story and post it here on my site.  That might be worthy of Patreon or Ko-fi or what have you.  But I don’t know if I could successfully do that in an ongoing fashion—it would involved editing each “chapter” as I went along, with no ability to go back and fix missteps in the story.

Still…maybe that might be something I could do with my longstanding story idea Changeling in a Shadow World.  I’ve mentioned this story here on several occasions, but I don’t think I’ve said much more about it.  It’s a story that would run alongside and behind several other tales of mine, including such seemingly disparate ones as The Chasm and the Collision, Unanimity, The Vagabond, and even Outlaw’s Mind.

It also would tie back to Ends of the Maelstrom, the first novel I ever finished writing (in first draft).  It was all handwritten, single-spaced, with additional writing in the margins—the ones that I hadn’t chewed to bits already—and in the spaces above other print.  It was over 270 densely packed pages long (both sides).

In my mind, I’ve taken that story to be a kind of origin or backstory for some of the largest scale tendencies in the universes of my stories.  Of course, that physical book is long gone—lost with almost all the other property I used to own before I went “up the road”.  That, my piano, my cello, my books, and my comic book collection are probably the only things I really feel sad about losing.  I do feel a pang about some of my kids’ childhood toys that are lost, but they were in storage already, so probably they don’t miss them as much as I do.

Anyway, I don’t want to get all of your hopes up, and even more crucially, I don’t want to get my hopes up regarding getting back into writing fiction and maybe serializing something here on my website.  But at least I’m thinking of possible positive thoughts.

Maybe it’s just a mood swing, though.  That sort of thing makes me a bit nervous, especially since yesterday afternoon I felt absolutely dismal and willfully moribund, if you will.  I don’t know what’s behind such variations, though I have suspicions and speculations.

I think at least some of my increased ambition comes from the fact that I am writing on the lapcom now, and that feels so much more natural than the alternative.  On the other hand, perhaps I am only writing on the lapcom as a consequence of an upswing in some mood cycle that was already happening, and so the direction of forces is not the one way but the other.

This is the perennial conundrum of correlation versus causation.  It’s very important in scientific thinking and also in more general thinking.

Anyway, this has gotten pretty long today.  I think you can probably imagine how readily I used to write about 1,400 words per day, can’t you?

Speaking of days, I hope you have a good one.  I shall be writing another post tomorrow (exclusis improvisis), but I will not be writing one on Halloween, since I don’t work on Saturday.  Maybe I’ll discuss Halloween (and Devil’s Night) tomorrow.  But maybe I won’t.  We’ll all have to wait and see.

TTFN

*I suspect no one was actually confused, but I had to correct my own words’ literal interpretation, because it didn’t make sense…if taken literally.  Which, I suspect, is almost never done, except perhaps by other people with similar sensibilities to mine.

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My fiction writing, from up the road to down the tubes

I’m writing on the lapcom yet again, which entails a pretty long streak for me lately:  three times in a row, if I’m not mistaken.  Though, it looks like it’s been a particularly long time since I used the lapcom on the 28th of October—the most recent lapcom-saved blog post on the 28th goes back to 2022 (AD or CE).

It’s hard for me to credit that it’s been that long that I’ve written blog posts using my smartphone, but I suppose the state of my thumbs should convince me.  The MCP (metacarpal-phalangeal) joint and the CMC (carpo-metacarpal joint) are still quite angry on both thumbs.

Anyway, I hope my posts on the lapcom haven’t been too unwieldy for everyone who reads my blog.  I know that I tend to get carried away with myself.  Also, perhaps ironically, I tend to use up more time each morning writing this blog than I ever did on those hundreds of mornings when I was writing fiction, even though I wrote about 1400 words every day.

Part of the reason for that is that, unlike with blog posts, editing was completely separate from initial writing.  In other words, I did not try to edit/fix anything as I was going along in the first drafts, even when I reread the previous day’s stuff to get me rolling on the new day’s writing.  It was very much a process of “get the words out there ‘on paper’, and accept that they will be imperfect and improve them in the editing process”.

I think it worked well.  It was a practice I started while I was “up the road”, though at that time I definitely used real paper, obtained from commissary through the generosity of my parents.  I got up at lights on every morning—I’m usually awake then anyway, although it was around three or so—and started writing until I had completed three or more pages.  I generally wrote in cursive*, but sometimes I printed when I wanted a break.

It’s interesting to me that, with those handwritten stories—Mark Red, The Chasm and the Collision, and Paradox City—a significant part of the editing process was the inevitable act of typing them into the computer.  It’s more or less impossible for me to do that without editing as I go, and that’s generally a good thing.  But it is cumbersome and time consuming.  And I don’t know that it produces better (or worse) material than when I write directly on the computer.

I cannot judge it objectively.  I like the above mentioned three stories, but I also like Son of Man, which was partly written on smartphone in work release and partly written directly onto a lapcom.  And I like the stories I’ve written since.

I even like my uncompleted stories, though they have fallen foul of a bad habit or tendency that has always caused me trouble:  I would start something new before finishing the previous thing.  I had blocked this habit starting while up the road by being ruthless and committing myself to finishing one book or story before starting any part of another.  If I had an idea for a story, I would simply jot it down for later.  And, of course, some of the jottings did produce stories, though such stories often take off and fly in unexpected directions (and for unexpected lengths) like Outlaw’s Mind.

I don’t know why I’m dwelling on this subject.  It’s not as though I am writing fiction now, anyway, any more than I am drawing or playing music (let alone composing it) or studying and practicing mathematics or physics.  I cannot seem to summon the energy to do any of these things, and even reading continues to be almost a chore.

Very few—and possibly none—of the things that made life enjoyable are working for me anymore.  And it’s not as though the outside world is very conducive to good thoughts.  Although, maybe I’m a poor judge of such things.

It would be nice, I often think, to go back to writing fiction (nearly) every day.  But, of course, given the constraints on my time, and the irritating need to work to keep myself alive, I would only be able to do that if I gave up on writing this blog.

It’s hard for me to imagine setting up a Patreon—or even just one of those Ko-fi accounts or whatever they are—and making enough income to be able to live and write full time.  I mean, even if everyone who reads my post every day gave me a dollar every day, I don’t think I could live on it.

I suppose, if I tried to do it full time, maybe I would do more interesting and gripping things, and maybe I would do a better job at marketing myself.  I don’t know; I’m not good at talking myself up, except in flagrant jest, where I’m pretending to be an egotistical megalomaniac.

And though I can admit that I have the capacity to do many things and do them pretty well, that is often something of a hinderance.  Whenever I’m doing mainly one thing, all the other things end up trying to draw me away.  And they often succeed.

It’s a longstanding frustration of mine that I know that if I were able to concentrate on one thing among my interests, I could probably have done something worth doing, something of significance—maybe even something great, if I were very, very lucky.  I think about how Feynman used to say that he wasn’t especially bright, he was just a guy who had very narrow interests, and so he was able to dedicate himself entirely to that pursuit.  I think it worked out pretty well for him.

I guess it all doesn’t matter much, if at all.  Given the state of my overall health, and my chronic pain, I doubt that I have time to make any major new contributions to much of anything, even if I were able to focus entirely on one pursuit, which I am not, at least not so far.

Whadaya gonna do?  Well, hopefully, what you’re going to do is have a good day.  I should be back tomorrow…exclusis improvisis.

*I like to joke that they only started calling script “cursive” after they tried to read mine and spent a lot of their time cursing.

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To be precise, you can’t be too precise

Well, here I am writing another post on the lapcom.  That’s two days in a row, which ties my recent record, I think.

Of course, it doesn’t come anywhere close to being the longest stretch on which I wrote fiction and/or blog posts on the lapcom (or, well, a lapcom).  That stretch was years long.  It took me more than a year just to complete the first draft of Unanimity.

That makes sense, of course, because it was about 550,000 words in first draft, and I write about 1400 words a day when writing first draft fiction.  That means, let’s see…392.8 days, roughly.  I say roughly because there are actually a lot of digits after that decimal place on the calculator.  But my estimates of total word number and the average amount I write per day are not precise enough to justify any greater carrying out of the digits.  The numerals are all just for show beyond a certain point.  They may seem to demonstrate greater precision of data, but they’re just bullshit.

In fact, if I were truly sticking to significant figures—as I should—I would just say that it took about 390 days (of writing) to finish the first draft of Unanimity.  Of course, given that I wrote only 5.5 days out of every 7 (with roughly every other Saturday off, I was writing five days in those weeks, six days in the others) then the total time outside writing-time would have been 7/5.5 x 390 = 496.36363… or, using significant figures, 500 days.

Now, I did not reduce that to one significant figure to keep with the 7, because the 7 is actually a defined, precise, exact, and correct number that doesn’t vary—the number of days in a week—and so it should not, if I am thinking about this correctly, affect the number of significant figures for better or for worse.  No, it merely is the case that if you reduce 496.363636… to two significant figures, those two digits are 5 and 0.

That was a weird little way for me to bring up the importance of the notion of significant figures in mathematics and especially in physics (and any other quantitative science that might randomly walk in).  They represent a deep aspect of reality, not merely an arbitrary aspect of mathematical formalism.  You cannot take two amounts about which you do not have very precise measures, mush them together, and come out with more precision on the other end.

Walking four steps forward with your eyes closed, turning as close to exactly 90 degrees to your right as you can make yourself do with your eyes closed, and walking another three steps in that direction, will take you some distance from your starting point.  But it will not be exactly five steps*—steps aren’t a precise or even consistent measure, nor is your ability to gauge a ninety degree turn.

This is something that always mildly irritates me when people talk about their blood pressure using more digits than are justified.  If someone says “my blood pressure was 127 over 83”, I just correct it in my head—and sometimes in person, if the person is in the right state of mind—to 130 over 80.  That’s not just rounding for convenience of record keeping, that’s actually as precisely as you can get the blood pressure, at least through anything other than an arterial catheter with a very high quality pressure probe.

First, the measuring instrument is imprecise.  This is traditionally the human ear, but even more purpose-designed sensors don’t do very much better.  They can’t.  The tissue between the cuff and vessel, and the vessels themselves, all have too many variables, and all this can affect the measured pressure.

In addition there is the fact that the blood pressure itself is not constant, even from peak to peak and trough to trough.  Each beat of the heart varies slightly in systolic and diastolic pressure, and the blood pressure is measured over many beats.  Even breathing affects blood pressure, with slight variations occurring between inspiration and exhalation**.

It can be important to keep this/these fact(s) in mind when dealing with and interacting with actual reality, rather than the mistaken or simply imprecise ideas of humans.  But even scientists explaining science professionally often seem to miss the boat on these matters.

For instance, one will sometimes encounter descriptions of the weirdness of quantum mechanics, especially the uncertainty principle, that contrast it with the way we’re allowed or able to be precise and exact about macroscopic measurements and interactions.  They also state that we can measure without disturbing the system, and point to this as being different from the quantum fuzziness.

But, no, we don’t measure macroscopic things precisely, and certainly not with anything like the sharpness of quantum mechanics.  If you were measuring the mass or the momentum of a car, for instance, your measurements will have errors that, on the scale of quantum mechanics, might as well be as large as a galaxy.  They don’t effect our measured outcomes because even those are terribly imprecise, and for practical purposes, being more precise is not useful—which is good for us, because there’s no real way to get that error down beyond a certain point.

And our observations of systems in the real world do affect them.  Light hitting the car you’re measuring, and maybe the radio waves from the radar gun you’re using to judge its speed, impart momentum to the car, just in very small amounts that are far too fine to be measured.  Similarly, the light you’re shining on the car, including the radar signal, delivers a bit of heat to the car, which increases its total mass ever so slightly, according to E = mc2.  But it’s a tiny amount, far too tiny to be measured by any instruments we have routinely available.

So, it’s not that the quantum world is fuzzy and the macroscopic world is not.  The macroscopic world is far fuzzier—it could hardly be otherwise, given that it’s made up of oodles of quanta—it’s just that we’re fuzzy too, since we’re also made of oodles of quanta.  And, of course, for most practical purposes, it doesn’t matter what the eighth (let alone the eightieth) decimal place is on the measure of the mass of a car moving relative to you with a certain velocity.

In case you can’t tell, this is something of a bugbear of mine.  I didn’t plan to write about it, but once I got going, it was hard to stop.  It irks me that even serious scientists, including theoretical physicists, miss the point of the distinction in measurement between the picoscopic*** and the simply “scopic***” scale.

I apologize for boring you with this, if it has bored you (if not, the apology would be pointless).  As you can see, I do tend to write more on the lapcom, because I can write much more easily and (for me) more naturally.

I hope you have a good day, in any case.  I’ll try to keep bringing the lapcom, but I’ll also try not to get too caught up in venting my mathematical/physics-related frustrations.  Exclusis improvisis, of course.

*Here I’m applying the geometry of the famous 3, 4, 5 right triangle, which can be perfectly precise as a mathematical ideal, but can never be perfectly produced in the real world.

**I wanted to write “inspiration and expiration”, which would be technically accurate, but the latter word carries connotations of finality that don’t tend to come with each breath.  Though, the dichotomy of inspiration and expiration sounds almost like a philosophical thought trigger:  when one ceases to be inspired, one merely expires, or something like that.

***Apparently, I just made those two words up (according to MS Word), but they weren’t made up out of whole cloth.  Their attributes follow, almost inevitably, from the logic and structure of the English language and the antecedent, accepted words.