...and my name like a shadow on

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

As the Light Fades...

I'm perplexed by the advice 'Be yourself': if one has to put in an especial effort to assume the attitude of 'being oneself', isn't this more artificial and hence less authentic than whatever attitude one would strike otherwise?

A lost Zelda demo, insulation against other people's opinions, and cultural heritage vigilantes


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Apparently, besides the leaked and well known Yoshi and dolphin technical demos for the Game Boy Advance there was a version of the Zelda II overworld; quoting from the Internet Archive's Zeldapower cache: 'The demo wasn't playable and only showed the effects—over a nicely detailed map of Hyrule.'

GBA Zelda II overworld demo GBA Zelda II overworld demo

I'd never heard of this one before, and it seems to be rather obscure; presumably it wasn't handed out to developers.


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Mistaken analysis of the moment: 'What we are doing here tonight at the Oxford Union is putting them on a platform that will give them legitimacy and credibility. It is as if we are saying that we agree with what they are saying and that we think it is valid.'

If it were true that one pays attention only to those with whom one agrees it would follow, implausibly, that the purpose of the Oxford Union and indeed of every debating society is to engage in weekly doublethink. (A tingle of Durham schadenfreude, if it's correct to apply the word here: clearly there's ample room for intellectual feebleness under the dreaming spires.)


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Given that preservation of heritage is often about keeping things from falling into further disrepair, and sometimes about restoring them, what's to be made of vigilante restoration?

Four members of an underground 'cultural guerrilla' movement known as the Untergunther, whose purpose is to restore France's cultural heritage, were cleared on Friday of breaking into the 18th-century monument... For a year from September 2005, under the nose of the Panthéon's unsuspecting security officials, a group of intrepid 'illegal restorers' set up a secret workshop and lounge in a cavity under the building's famous dome... [and] pieced apart and repaired the antique clock that had been left to rust in the building since the 1960s. Only when their clandestine revamp of the elaborate timepiece had been completed did they reveal themselves.

The French courts have cleared them of charges of wrongdoing; it's a good thing they had benign intentions in sneaking inside. I suppose the moral question is, what makes it right (or meritorious or, arguably, even required) for a given group of people to take charge in such a fashion, presumably on behalf of a 'culture' wider than itself? It's a question that can also be levelled at conventional political institutions, given that people can vote, but their cultures can't.

Friday, November 23, 2007

‘Yes Valjean, you want a deal...’

In the great age of both rampant commercialism and amusing or nostalgic video clips online, alas, I nevertheless can't find a certain Ambrosia advert involving a cow and some reimagined lyrics. It's not much good 'elevating [one]self to the status of a national treasure... in a style that's way beyond ironic' if it's all just a faded memory a few years later.

Soft information on Jordanian politics, the tale of a clockwork heart, and noble sacrifices


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Is the BBC hoping it can prevent the waveform of Jordanian politics from collapsing?

Jordanian king 'appoints new PM'
Jordan's King Abdullah has named a technocrat prime minister after the current cabinet resigned following parliamentary elections, officials say... [He] has reportedly been given the task of boosting the economy... King Abdullah officially designated Mr Dahabi to form a new cabinet on Thursday afternoon..., senior officials said... [and the announcement will be made on Sunday,] one official told the AFP news agency... [His mandate is such-and-such], another official told the Reuters news agency.

How many officials need to disclose something before it becomes official? Perhaps this is normal in Jordan; I've never been there, but I'm told there is such a country.


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This was posted on Brass Goggles, and it's rather good, if unhappily so. Music needs more dustbin references.




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Sticking with the French theme to comment on news from the ever-surreal land of Intellectual Property, it seems someone has finally found a use for DRM: as a dodgy bargaining chip.

In exchange for the clampdown on illegal downloading, the music industry has agreed to make individual downloads of archive French material available on all types of players by dropping digital rights management protection.

That proposal makes sense if you accept the line that DRM is a necessary measure, since that gives it the appearance of being able to be exchanged only for some other means of restriction. From another point of view, however, it's like car dealers offering 'unscratched paintwork' as a bargaining chip: when we find people choosing to reduce the utility of their wares, then suggesting that they could stop doing that as though it were a sacrifice on their side, something strange is going on. Industry should be the party willing to make some sacrifice, because what is proposed is that they should lose a burden (the work of adding DRM; of course the cost gets passed to the customer, but if profits are to stay constant then the price has to be higher than otherwise, which means fewer will deem the works worth buying), and the French government (funded, of course, by French taxpayers) will ramp up enforcement... 'in exchange'. I wish I could make deals like that.

Of course, I can't miss commenting on this aspect:

[Denis] Olivennes this year highlighted the problem of illegal downloading in a book entitled Free Is Theft, in which he argued that piracy stole funds from French culture by reducing the money raised by levies on cinema takings and pay-television.

It's interesting to see a direct appeal to culture where the US-style 'science and useful arts' are perhaps more familiar (and of course I must note that I haven't read the book). However, even taking a lenient view of cultural property I have a hard time seeing 'French culture' as a victim of theft in this case: clearly current French culture is being efficiently made accessible to the French and others, so it becomes (presumably) a 'future generations'-style argument, and while it's probably possible to construct some sort of argument about future impoverishment in a vague sense I'm inclined to doubt that theft provides a suitable metaphor, given the difficulty of predicting how culture will develop given any given set of restraints, or of judging what would be good for it.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Phase Two Should Be a Dance Remix

Thanks to NexuzJannis I've been able to sample the FFVII demo that shipped with Tobal No.1, and here's a feature I haven't seen documented before: the screens that explain the controls. Someone put a bit of effort in...



Select: change screen/character
D-pad: Cloud walks on the spot in the direction pressed
D-pad up or down: Barret puts hands together and taps foot
D-pad left: Barret leaps
D-pad right: Barret raises fist
Circle: Cloud sticks arms out and beckons/Barret waves arms
Cross: Barret shakes head
L1/R1: rotate Cloud

[Update: thanks to NexuzJannis for finding a screenshot of the English version of Cloud's screen.]

The following translation has been supplied to me:

Cloud's Screen:

*この仕様は、製品版とは異なる場合があります。
*This version may differ from the final game.

L1・R1
クラウドが回る
L1・R1
Cloud turns

(D-PAD) キー
クラウドが8方向に移動
L1 R1と会わせ自由自在に動かせ!
(D-Pad) key
Cloud moves in 8 directions
Press L1 and R1 at the same time to move freely!

つぎへSELECT
SELECT = next

もどるSTART
START = back

○ボタン
話す/決定
circle button
speak/decide

Xボタン
ダッシュで走る
X button
dash

街を歩く時
when walking in a town

Barret's Screen:

SELECT
ヘルプ ON/OFF
(初心者向けの説明)
SELECT
help ON/OFF
(explanation for beginners)

(D-pad) キー
コマンドを/目標を選ぶ
<(D-pad)[チェンジ]
[ぼうぎょ]は(D-pad)>
(D-pad) key
decide command/target
< (D-pad) [change]
(D-pad) > [defense]

つぎへ SELECT
SELECT = next

もどる START
START = back

○ボタン
決定!!
circle button
decide!!

Xボタン
取り消し
X button
cancel

戦闘
fight

Other animations are idling loops.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

A Post Without a Namesake

Namesakes can be troublesome, especially when they go in for violent assault; perhaps these people's existence is balanced in some small way by The Words of My Grief: Living with Unlawful Loss, by Robert Seddon (also not myself). My condolences go to Mr. Molyneux's family.

Philosophical teaching methods, dead authors blogging, and illegible handwriting


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Good news: philosophers are having an easy time finding jobs these days. But what's this...?

Jonathan Lowe, professor of philosophy at Durham University, agrees that courses' concern with the real world has accelerated in the past five years.

"It's probably because of the new financial arrangements for students that courses have had to prove they are applicable to real world issues," he says. "And the teaching methods have changed. There are more student-led sessions. Students have to argue on their feet and give presentations. That probably shows at interviews."

There may be a higher proportion of student-led sessions than in past decades, but Professor Lowe knows very well that our dept. was forced to cut down the number of undergrad. tutorials a few years ago, reducing their proportion of teaching/supervision time compared to lectures. I'm not suggesting his words were poorly chosen or misleading, but tutorial teaching in the dept. ended its highpoint when my year graduated.


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I'm disappointed to see that Shakespeare, so prolific as a playwright, hasn't posted since May. (Although use of the modern convention in spelling his name, though no doubt to be expected for the benefit of search engine users, makes me wonder whether an imposter might be responsible.) Luckily Chaucer is still going strong.

Now I'm wondering how many dead writers' blogs I might have missed. Emile Zola is on MySpace, as are Tolstoy and Byron, but that isn't quite what I'm looking for. Then there are merely assumed (without pretence) and coincidental names, like Rabelais and Jonathan Swift. Leaving...

Okay, I'd hoped for more. Maybe I expect too much of dead people.


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I've been pointed in the direction of artgoodhitlerbad.com, and one recent post that caught my eye was a discussion of handwriting: 'once the reader opens to the first page, her tightly condensed and frantic scribbles inundate you with a overwhelming feeling of sensory overload... Unfortunately for Edith, neither myself or anyone I’ve showed them to can make out much of the content other than the various section titles.' It makes me wonder whether the legendarily slippery Voynich script might just be really, really bad handwriting—leading to the perverse thought that maybe Edith's writings are in fact cunningly disguised nonsense, created to perplex. Maybe there are actually legions of such works, and only the VMS and Rohonczi Codex have got attention because all the rest were mistaken for mere commonplace illegibility—

More From the Cutting Room Floor, Translated By GlitterBerri

GlitterBerri translated a couple of in-development screens from Final Fantasy VII: the first is from the Perfect Guide disc that ships with International. (Normally this is seen with a squashed aspect ratio – maybe there was no better quality image available to put on the disc – but I've lengthened it to normal.) Click the image for a larger version.

Cloud in a bar
クラウド「勘違いするな。お前達アバランチにも興味はない。俺は今回の報酬をきっちりもらって次の職を探すさ。」

Cloud: Don't misunderstand. I have no interest in you Avalanche. As soon as I get my pay for this time, I'll look for my next mission.

Sounds familiar, huh? =)

I wonder whether that background was going to be Seventh Heaven at one point. I wish I could make out Cloud's interlocutor: it looks a bit small to be Barret, but it's hard to tell.

Next up is a shot from a magazine scan:

Shinra guards removed from the final version
クラウド「目標は北魔晄炉だ!ザコにはかまわず進め!」

Cloud: The North Mako Reactor is the target! These small fry won't make it tough to proceed!

This whole map changed a lot: elsewhere on the magazine page you can see more guards who were removed, and a tower that was altered for the final version. Curiously enough a shot of the old version (unpopulated) still appears in the FFVII International manual.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Building, Telling, Reading

Occasionally there are days when I long with Leibniz to be able to calculate as precisely and as certainly in morals as in mathematics. Today has been one of those days.

But not because of these: buildings as stories, apparent epistemic luck, and the other side of media effects


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A beautifully evocative remark at BLDBLOG:

Evidence of previous churches! Such a beautiful phrase. Finding evidence of other buildings – older buildings – inside the building you're now standing in.

Or perhaps you find evidence of a newer building, inside the building you're standing in – and you realize, stunned, that someone is replacing the building, slowly and in secret over the course of several years, in bits and pieces, here and there, leaving traces, evidence, clues.

It reminds me of the stories we tell and the languages we tell them in, changing little by little with each retelling, piling layer on philological layer; or the minuscule textual clues in later commentaries by which Anaximander and other shadowy figures are reconstructed. From a certain angle, maybe architecture is a narrative too: 'We haven't lived with this house long enough for more than dabbling in hermeneutics, let alone making serious additions of our own, but let me show you how some of the traces seem to join together...'

Of course, that ties in to what I write about heritage as not just the physical stuff but a window onto knowledge—


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It looks probable that a genuine assault has been prevented; but something bothers me, and principally it's this:

The school's head teacher alerted police on Friday after classmates saw the two boys studying a website with images of the Columbine massacre.

I have horrible visions of legions of false positives as well-meaning people report the merely curious as potential killers.


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Reading the report about tiptoe-crazy publishers sanitising children's books, I looked at one of the 'related articles', a piece from June. It seems I missed this horror story at the time:

We find that many children don't understand what reading is. They treat it like a comprehension question because that is the way books are treated in the classroom.

Quite often they don't realise that reading a book is not about right and wrong answers but about how you feel and the questions it raises, about the inferences you make and the thoughts you have.

With allegations that violent games can 'teach aggression' (remarked on a few days ago) being noted on GamePolitics today, I wonder whether I'm seeing the other side of the 'media effects' coin: the basic nature of creative works being taken to be merely repositories of certain definite data. What grisly irony if it were made true through such an approach to teaching reading... But that quotation also reflects one of the counterarguments: didacticism tends to be simply dull. The messsage/signal/script metaphor for media effects has never seriously reflected the depths of engrossment in a book, film or game. (Maybe I should develop a toy argument that does, making something different to have a go at knocking down.)

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Forgotten Idea for a Title

I was wondering what the best defensive strategy would be if College were attacked by hordes of the living dead, and have concluded that the large glass windows in Haughton Dining Room and Leech Hall make those rooms too hard to defend; but unless we were to retreat into one end of the building we'd have to keep the adjacent corridor secure. John's isn't really very well suited to weathering a zombie attack.

Pierre Gustave Brunet, how to suppress memories, and the Saragossa Manuscript


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[IMAGINARY BOOKS] Rabelais, F (ed.) Catalogue de la Bibliotheque de l'Abbaye de Saint-Victor au seizieme siecle ... suivi d'un essai sur les Bibliotheques Imaginaires ....
Paris J Techener 1862 8vo., orig. publisher's printed wrappers. First Edition. Uncommon. A very good copy with some wear to the backstrip. A scholarly account and reprint of the imaginary library catalogue that Rabelais included in 7th chapter of Bk. II of Pantagruel. The text is accompanied by an extensive essay on imaginary libraries and books by G Brunet.
Price: USD 300.00

Perhaps the Imaginary Book Club should consider a purchase... or would a real book be out of place in its library? We can read Gargantua and Pantagruel electronically, but [Pierre] Gustave Brunet presents greater difficulties, although apparently the University Library has a copy of his Imprimeurs imaginaires et libraires supposés: étude bibliographique, suivie de recherches sur quelques ouvrages imprimés avec des indications fictives de lieux ou avec des dates singuliéres (snappy...). It's not allowed to leave the building.


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I love the Power Glove psychological research.

When men meet fair-haired women they really do have a 'blonde moment'. Scientists have found that their mental performance drops, apparently because they believe they are dealing with someone less intelligent.

Researchers discovered what might be called the 'bimbo delusion' by studying men's ability to complete general knowledge tests after exposure to different women. The academics found that men’s scores fell after they were shown pictures of blondes.

It appears to be worse than a drop in intelligence: since these were general knowledge tests, it seems looking at blondes can actually suppress memories. In a few years' time a secret military research project will have developed these studies to the point at which the populace can be controlled through the selective blanking of memories—assuming that this hasn't already happened.


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Another item added to my agonisingly lengthy 'to read' list: The Manuscript Found in Saragossa. Apparently the film adaptation is something of a cult item; this commentary makes it seem quite intriguing, especially for someone currently pondering multi-layered narratives in relation to the problems of truth in fiction.



Imagine This Post In Alternative CSS

'During the breakdown the koala tamer, yo-yo in one hand and oatmeal in the other, followed a cat down the stairs with no certainty whatsoever.'

Self-confidence in education, an odd FFVII video, and the immortal allure of imaginary books


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Peculiar quotation of the day: 'One of the worst things you can do with a very young child is give them the impression that they can't do something.'

Point of information: children can scarcely fail to discover that there are a great many things they can't do. Besides, doesn't the act of trying to learn to do something rather imply a recognition that one can't do it yet?


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I haven't yet attempted to replicate this, and I suspect it may be a Gameshark hack (given that the Test2 pyramids are identified as Deenglows in their helper text, suggesting that that's what they 'really' are), but it's an interesting mystery, anyway. [Update: all is explained.]




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I have yet to read Stanislaw Lem's A Perfect Vacuum, despite my fondness for such games, but in the meantime I can entertain myself with the winners of a contest from 2003:

In the spirit of Borges' remark, write a book review of an imaginary book... The book may be from any time period, it may be fiction or non-fiction, and its author may be either an invention or an actual writer... There was a wide variety of books, from one-page pamphlets to vast sets of encyclopedias. Several people submitted some rather treacherous books – books as labyrinths to trap the reader or reviewer, books that exploded, or books that contained an infinite regression of other books...

Elsewhere there are reviews of unwritten science fiction. Or if reviews seem insufficiently evocative, try covers. Let imaginary books be beautiful.

I was disappointed by the actual content of an article promisingly entitled 'The Imaginary Book Club' – perhaps it's the club that's imaginary – and propose a club genuinely dedicated to the study and appreciation of imaginary books. Although...

Perhaps we should consider these two conditions, being lost and being imaginary, as part of the natural lifecycle of books. Because every book starts as an imaginary, unbirthed entity in the mind of its author. And every book will eventually be lost and forgotten at some point; entropy will take care of that.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Introduction To an Unwritten Story

In a few of the more austere nurseries the Laments of the Sages are still to be found; though even there this book is most commonly little read, being passed over less for more uplifting works than for those less apt to inspire a precocious inquisitiveness.

In the first half of the book, each protagonist proceeds with purity, goodwill and the noblest of intentions; these lead him into actions which bring ruin for himself and others. Each concludes ruefully that he would have done better to submit to the guidance of the Church, the Law, or some other authority which he nevertheless cannot understand.

In the second half, each corresponding protagonist places himself under the guidance of such authority, and on its instructions commits deeds which end in ruin for himself and others. Each concludes that he would have done better to act out of love and the pricks of conscience, though their operations remain no less mysterious.

It was the hope of the authors that a study of these tales would foster the inculcation of wisdom in young minds. It is not known whether this has happened.

Friday, November 16, 2007

No Natural Darkness

Following on from posts involving stop-motion and paint-on-glass animation, this is some lovely amateur silhouette work...





Then there are longer and even outright surreal examples of the genre.

It was through watching these that I came upon the name of Lotte Reiniger (1899 - 1981). Apparently she was inspired by Chinese silhouette puppetry; maybe I should look that up in turn...



And in the midst of these innocent tales (well, those and the grimmer one of her own attempts to escape Nazi Germany, being refused visas and so not managing to move to London until 1949) I find something that reads like a story Lessig might tell:

Lotte Reiniger actually worked on a third feature as well. She loved Maurice Ravel's 1925 opera L'Enfant et les Sortilèges (The Boy and the Bewitched Things), which tells of a naughty child who ruins his schoolbooks and toys, hurts his pets, breaks dishes and furniture and despoils the garden—but all the things he has damaged come to life and accuse him until he repents. Both Colette's text (the 'china' tea set speak the mock Chinese of 'Hong Kong, Mah Jong' while the torn arithmetic book sings fragments of math problems) and Ravel's diverse music (from mock 18th-century shepherdesses, to jazzy fox trots to cat yawls to a symphony of garden sounds) are magical. Lotte tried for seven years to get the rights to the piece—a complex and expensive matter, since Ravel's music, Colette's libretto and the particular musical performance (singers, orchestra, etc.) had to be cleared separately. When Ravel died in 1937 the clearance became even more complex, and Lotte finally abandoned the project, although she had designed sequences and animated some scenes to convince potential backers and the rights-holders.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Pontifex Divisit

"Back again?" asked my Melancholy, at the same time piteous and withering, with eyebrows positioned precisely to add: "and have you learnt this time?"

(Not actually a reference to my reaction if I learn I messed up the Latin...)

The sadness of UNESCO, dreaming of an island retreat, and the Codex Gigas


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It puzzles me that a press release should be headed 'UNESCO regrets decision on construction of bridge that threatens delisting of Dresden Elbe Valley from World Heritage List'—not because I don't think it's worthy of regret, but because I don't see why the psychological state of UNESCO staff should be the focus of the press release.

It saddens us that the intense negotiations launched between UNESCO and the national and municipal authorities of Germany have failed to secure the protection of a site so recently inscribed on the World Heritage List.

Maybe it's their way of saying 'Sorry—we tried'. Actually, I perhaps should see it as laudable that the Organisation has reacted with human feeling rather than political platitudes. I don't know... what should one write in such circumstances?


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Your score is 71 (out of 100).
You're a good candidate for island ownership, but bring your man Friday along and don't sign any papers until you've spent a week or two on the island. Consider an island that's already developed, because your score indicates that you like the idea of ownership, but may not have the true grit to build a thatch hut and hang your hat for the longterm. Before you consider island ownership, spend some time reading about other people's experiences.

Looking at the costs involved in island ownership, I think there are other obstacles besides.


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The face of the devil, as depicted in the Codex Gigas

I keep stumbling across fascinating things and wondering how they managed to elude me for this long: among these is the Codex Gigas, currently being exhibited in the Klementium in Prague. This is one case where the digitised version, though a wonderful thing to have, fails to capture the book's most distinctive feature: being the world's largest manuscript. But give me a little spare time with some wallpaper...

Given my current interest in marginalia – I'm reading Jackson's book on the subject, wondering whether any insights about heritage value can be extracted – one detail from the commentary in particular caught my eye:

Codex Gigas contains numerous 'I was here' inscriptions from the 16th and 17th centuries, testifying to its unfailing allure. As recently as the 19th century, two Czech authors, Josef Pečirka and Beda Dudik, pioneers of the scholarly study of the manuscript, inscribed their names in it.

Of all the things to scrawl that seems woefully unimaginative. If you're going to deface a book, especially a great book, is a little wit too much to ask?

We Can Run To the End of the World Philosophy Day

Attention! This weblog has moved; for its continuation, please visit RFJSeddon.net.

This two hundredth post conveniently coincides with World Philosophy Day; gaudeamus igitur. With increased traffic nowadays I decided it was time for the About/Introduction/FAQ post I never previously bothered with (last updated 6/3/2011):

This place isn't about the moon, is it?
I'm afraid not; and you may perhaps have been looking for phases of the moon. The name actually quotes 'Small Two of Pieces ~ Broken Shards', a strangely named but chokingly beautiful song from Xenogears.

Whose is the mind behind these scribblings?
It's that of Robert Seddon, at the time of writing studying for a Ph.D. in Philosophy at the University of Durham, UK. My doctoral research is on the ethics of cultural heritage.

Is there any semblance of a theme or some standards of quality control here?
Not really. I write about my interests: that includes posting my work notes, and sometimes I post very rough ones. I have been taking more care lately, but there are no guarantees. Don't bother asking for your money back.

Might I find material here which I find offensive, or inappropriate for my children?
I haven't the foggiest idea.

About the blue bubble/marble things...
Sometimes I combine what would otherwise be a set of short posts, generally with a flippant or autobiographical introductory paragraph and an index line. It makes sense to me...

These titles are really unhelpful...
I like wordplay, and semi-random references... I get a lot of disoriented visitors from search engines, but it isn't really my job to reign in my linguistic flair for the sake of those companies' search algorithms. The tags are your friends, though. With certain possible exceptions.

Why is there a three month gap after the first post?
I got distracted before getting into gear; back then I hadn't told anyone about this place, so it didn't matter.

What's the silliest post to date?
This one.

Islanders

Alexander Petrov's 1997 paint-on-glass animation The Old Man and the Sea reminds me of Shinkai's work, especially the skies: beauty in an auteur's eye, a driving vision. The version below is the Japanese dub, but it's of decent quality visually. (Apparently the original release languages were English and French. YouTube has the English dub; I haven't been able to confirm whether the DVD actually got an English/Region 2 release.)



Animation with roots outside Japanese or Anglophone television and popular cinema always gives the impression of being an evanescent phenomenon, when in fact it's probably the impression that's evanescent: occasionally one hears about some seemingly isolted work, such as the recent Persepolis, but joining the dots here, as with so much that neglects to be packaged for easy consumption, requires active digging. I recall an Edge editorial from the time of the first, grainy Wind Waker images that approvingly compared them to Hungarian animation—and when one looks, why yes, there is such a thing. But for that comment my igorance thereof would remain total; although occasionally one finds animated works in the catch-all 'foreign language film' category, such as La planète sauvage (which I first noticed whilst browsing in HMV). I wonder what bloodlines link it to Belleville Rendez-Vous.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Whispers

Can the XP Automatic Updates configuration change spontaneously? I've had trouble with those settings before, and would prefer a poltergeist to anything more malicious. (If you've got a back door, you can slip in anyway, so hopefully this is 'just' a glitch.)

All serious today, I'm afraid: 'global digital citizenship', pedagogy of aggression, and canonical works in fan culture.


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Shortly after I compain about fuzzy conceptions of citizenship, we start hearing of 'global digital citizenship, which represents an extension, with its specific peculiarities, of fundamental human rights'. An Internet Bill of Rights is proposed: I wonder how many rights, in how many bills, can be devised before incompatibilities and legacy cruft put the whole edifice under critical strain.

The context is a possible expansion of the remit of the Internet Governance Forum, so it might be looked upon as a good thing that greater centralised political control should be accompanied by such a concern for individual rights; but it's doubtful that such centralised control enjoys popular support in the first place. (Private polls revealing what percentage of those sampled responded affirmatively to generalised questions about the desirability of online policing hardly cut it.) 'Global digital citizenship' sounds more like an imposition than an invitation.


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When the headline is 'How Violent Video Games Are Exemplary Aggression Teachers' one doesn't anticipate great things: without the paper itself I can't make many specific comments, but most of those it seems I'd be making (definition of aggression, problems with self-reporting surveys, etc.) are the usual suspects anyway. The structure of the argument seems to be: if a medium incorporates features with a recognisable pedagogical application, then the content of that medium will be impressed on the mind in like fashion.

It's an interesting line of argument – especially for a former pupil of Adrian Brown, deviser of board/card/other games as teaching aids in Religious Studies – but not presented convincingly. Two obvious a priori objections are (1) that one approaches pedagogical material with certain fore-expectations not present when one seeks entertainment, so the cases are less similar than they appear, and (2) that you have to do some kind of hermeneutic work to establish that that content of a work which is subject to teaching-like transmission includes something that can meaningfully be called aggression. On top of which, the truly great teachers enable their pupils to think for themselves.


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Some Salon comments on the Harry Potter Lexicon fiasco reflect what I've been working on more abstractly:

For some fans, indeed, Rowling's seven books represent just a small bit of the world of Harry Potter, not the main point of it. The main point of it, for them, is the culture of Potter—the whirring world of Potter fandom that's sure to spin for decades, long after Rowling herself has passed on.

It makes me wonder what role the 'original' work should play in determining value for the whole fan culture. I've tended to take it that the culture as a whole reinforces the value of the root works that make its existence possible (otherwise, perhaps, it wouldn't be that specific fan culture anymore). But maybe I should take holistic value further... or maybe I should just conclude that both value-scores increase exponentially as the fan culture grows, but at differing rates, so that the culture nonetheless comes to be vastly more valuable than root works, which are still much more valuable with than without it.

‘I cannot control you: / You have deeper layers’

Using the opening quotation below feels deeply wrong, but it is the best one for the task I can call to mind, and, well, this enquiry has already covered two series of fantasy novels, Han Solo, historical realism and Rashōmon. We're philosophers: we can handle it...

Every single My Little Pony episode ever made has a whole host of tiny errors which just makes them even more enjoyable to watch. A pony might suddenly acquire a unicorn horn for a scene, or her hair might change colour completely depending on the animators. Sometimes the voices are even swapped by accident, leading to some rather confusing moments for the casual viewer.
(Loughenbury 2007)

In interpreting fictional works there are certain elements we routinely judge to be aspects of the medium used rather than 'what is depicted' – we realise that e.g. Solid Snake isn't 'supposed to be' a two-dimensional representation of a collection of shaded and texture-mapped ploygons – but colour, for example, isn't one of those: we take it that Snoopy is 'supposed' to be mostly white (at least until we discover that some of Schulz's early work makes him a tan colour). When it comes to continuity errors, what we seem to be doing is appealing to how things 'usually' are (and the absence of any explanation in the storyline for a temporary change) in order to write off an exception case as a mere error.

But what actually warrants our belief that what we see has deviated from how things 'ought' to be? Depending on the world of a given work of fiction we may have stronger or weaker grounds for thinking that something is amiss: a digital watch in something presented as a period drama is obviously 'wrong', whereas the scene in Fantasia where a winged horse can enter a pool of water one colour and emerge another looks like a mistake, but we can't very well point to anatomical studies of winged horses, or to positive elements of the myth of Pegasus (since myths needn't include exhaustive detail), to decide the point. (In her own case Miss Loughenbury might appeal to the MLP toy range as constraining evidence; I hesitate to consult her, and there's no way I'm checking the primary sources. At any rate there are many other cases in which no such option is available.)

Evidence isn't the extent of the epistemological difficulty: talk of this sort of error seems to involve judging what we see against a standard of 'what we should see' but don't. As with the 'Han shot first' argument, one of multiple possible versions of a scene is said to be the correct one – one has to be nervous about calling it the 'real' or 'true' one – but in this case the 'correct' version is also unseen and unmade.

One way of looking at this is to return to the role of authorial intent: we make the reasonable assumption that the weird continuity, or the intruding anachronism, or whatever peculiarity was accidental, and that if they had noticed it the creators of the work would have judged it to run counter to their intentions and removed it. (This doesn't necessarily commit us to any position on whether Han shot first, since that alteration arose from Lucas changing his mind rather than from his making an oversight.) But that sort of authorial originalism may have rather extreme implications: if the 'correct' version of a work may not only expand upon but contradict the published version we actually see, there must be numerous cases in which the 'correct' version is known only to the author and the editor who altered it, and legions of cases where this is possible because we don't have the author's guarantee that his intentions were satisfied. Even Plato might have trouble swallowing that.

Usually we take the work itself to be decisive evidence: if e.g. Terry Pratchett asserts that in his Discworld books Death's horse is called Charles, we will point out that in fact the texts show the horse's name to be Binky. For all we know he might have intended the name to be Charles, but no such intention has successfully determined the name used in the books to refer to the character. We might say that one published work has failed to be 'faithful' (what an interesting term to employ) to another published work: a bad translation, or a film adaptation that takes wild liberties. For example, there's the argument that Final Fantasy VII has a character properly named Aerith because that's the form used in the Japanese documentation, even though the game's official translation romanises エアリス ('Earisu') as 'Aeris': fans have practically shed each other's blood over this. However, if I write something which I don't consider a satisfactory embodiment of my intentions, that looks like evidence of my lack of talent rather than of its being somehow unreal: it's a real work, just not quite the one I hoped for.

We could bite the bullet: 'In film-Troy there are aeroplanes'. In effect we'd be committing ourselves to the view that whatever happens in a finished and published work is properly part of it: it may be dodgily put together, but some things are. There are odder intentional things in some artworks than voice-swapping ponies, anyway. (I just wrote that with the tacit assumption that talking animals are quite normal... which in some genres of fiction they are.) But here too I worry about the implications. Suppose some author does poor typo-checking and in his historical novel mentions Martin Luther King, Jr.'s death in 1969. As a matter of historical fact King died in 1968, but if we can't write this off as an error we shall have to say that the mere mention creates a book-King who died in 1969. But then, that would have important implications for the course of book-history in book-America, perhaps implications inconsistent with other aspects of the novel (which may otherwise proceed as though book-King had indeed indeed been assassinated in 1968). It all seems a rather exorbitant price to pay.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Inviting

In a bid to introduce some variety to the burden of explaining the phrase 'Final Fantasy series' I'm going to start telling people it was an amazingly prescient Visions of Atlantis reference.

Voices of the Konix Multisystem, a book site spat, and something resembling an ice lolly


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This is monokoma's video of a Konix Multisystem advert: what stands out for me is the selection of slightly stereotypical accents. You wouldn't hear this nowadays: it would be either outright blatant stereotyping or some other accent, probably Estuary or generic Lad.


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When I criticised dodgy Terms of Service, Shelfari was one of the offenders; in two weblog posts this month the LibraryThing staff are making other accusations against them.

When you sign up for Shelfari you are dumped into a screen that offers to send out check-out-my-books invitations to friends. The user interface is confusing and deceptive, and what seems like an attempt to continue into the site really sends out hundreds or thousands of letters to everyone you've ever known by email. Reminder-letters follow. Skipping this step requires clicking out-of-the-way, gray non-underlined text.
Shelfari engaged in a massive campaign of astroturfing—having employees post comments to blogs pretending to be happy users.

I think I remember that invitation page; I don't recall how I skipped it, but I think I mamaged it in the end (or at least, nobody in my address book has told me otherwise). It's a sad state of affairs.


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I'm disappointed to learn that a collection of strange statues seems to feature no gargoyles. However, there is a melting cow, which makes up for it. It's blue.

‘Attention! This is a vehicle, a vehicle reversing!’

I heard in College breakfast today that this had happened:

Damage to the top of the door frame

A reversing lorry was the culprit; I get the impression from what the housekeeper was saying that this isn't an altogether novel occurrence. A panel which acts as a shelter at the top of the doorframe has been ripped out, and a telephone wire is hanging loose.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Fever Dreams of Gargoyle Exchange Schemes

These days we don't even get decent pantomime villains; but if reclaim magenta we must, reclaim magenta we will.

Borges-inspired music, 'global awareness', and gargoyles


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It's often interesting when a work in one medium inspires one in another, and I just came across 'Hlör u fang axaxaxas mlö' for clarinet, violin, cello, and piano. I can't hear the moon in it, though.


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What exactly is 'global awareness'? Apparently our children lack it. I can't comment very efectively without seeing the full survey questions and results, which I can't find on the British Council's (awkwardly structured) Website, but I get the impression it was more ideological than logical:

Among the questions asked was whether children saw themselves as a citizen of the world or of their own country.

Apart from the fact that this fails to distinguish between inclusive and exclusive disjunction, if you assert literally that you are a citizen of the world you are prattling nonsense, since there is no global government to recognise your claim of citizenship; you might as well proclaim yourself a citizen of Jupiter.

Update: according to Newsnight the actual question was, 'I feel I am more a citizen of the world than a citizen of my own country': so there's no disjunction ambiguity, but it still reflects a weird grasp of citizenship—besides having the usual problems with self-reporting polls, etc.


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Let me talk of gargoyles, for whom the grotesque is beautiful (and a few are worse than grotesque): in the traditional stone, in (photoshopped) sand, or in Lego. Not bad for glorified drainage spouts.

Demon's Crest
Gargoyles stand guard, warding off unwanted spirits and other creatures... If they're hideous and frightening enough, it was thought they would be especially effective in scaring off all sorts of other threatening creatures. Perhaps it was even believed that some came alive at night, protecting people when they were most vulnerable. Better still, the ones with wings could fly and protect the village as well as the church.

They're not just a mediæval thing: there's a list of 112 gargoyles around the Washington National Cathedral, and it leaves out Darth Vader [PDF]. They still tend to guard buildings, but one of Neil Gaiman's short stories has a gargoyle placed inside a human chest to guard a heart from the risk of being broken; maybe instead of the Angel of the North we should have a really big gargoyle for national security (i.e. something with an excuse for being hideous). There seems to be a record to beat...

Archimaginary Entities

Looking back at the status of authorship as it was raised by the question of Dumbledore's sexuality (leading, perhaps inevitably, into that of whether Han shot first), I wonder whether a comment I made at Big Ideas back then fails to address the possibility of multiple authorship. I wrote:

We're already manking certain background assumptions about consistency: that each book in the series ought to be consistent with the others, and each chapter within each book, etc. By extension of this principle, a hypothetical eighth book in which Dumbledore's sexual orientation is made clear would become canon, by virtue of being the eighth book in the series by Rowling: authorship is our criterion for defining what counts as the canonical series (and any actual internal inconsistency is presumably a regrettable flaw). Under that criterion it makes sense to spare Mrs. Rowling the need to write a novel to decide the point.

However, that’s a contingent criterion which I suspect isn’t altogether disconnected from our institutions of intellectual property: the normal way of things in the modern world is that authors receive certain legal privileges over their creations, so you can’t, for example, 'fork' the Harry Potter series after the fourth book and have it take a different direction in which Dumbledore is unambiguously heterosexual—well, as a fanfic writer you can, but you’re on dodgy legal ground. In a different legal environment, perhaps fictional worlds would be subject to less of a canon/fanon distinction and more of a multi-canon one. In the case of e.g. Shakespeare’s The Tempest vs. Dryden’s The Enchanted Island, that already happens: we remember Shakespeare’s not so much because it was original (which many of his plays weren't) as because it’s routinely judged to be the superior work.

It strikes me that the Trillium case does show (legally accredited) authors forking a canon. This is the Trillium 'series':

  • Black Trillium, the first book (not these people): Marion Zimmer Bradley, Julian May, and Andre Norton
  • Blood Trillium: Julian May
  • Sky Trillium: Julian May
  • Golden Trillium (which incidentally I haven't read): Andre Norton
  • Lady of the Trillium: Marion Zimmer Bradley

No, the sequels aren't all consistent with each other, although you've at least the option of treating Golden Trillium and Lady of the Trillium as continuous. Oh, and to complicate matters further apparently a literature agent called Uwe Luserke had the original idea for Black Trillium. There's no room for principles of charitable interpretation here – judged by standards of 'series continuity', Trillium is a mess – but that needn't be a problem. It's when we try to reason backwards from the sequels to what was necessarily happening or existent, but not mentioned, during the time period of the first book that the headaches begin.

I don't think we've any option but to say that certain things are true in one continuity and false in another, and that neither is illigitimate. Perhaps each line of continuity has a token of the Black Trillium type. If we can do that, we can probably say something similar of a single creator making 'Han shot first' true at t1 and 'Han didn't shoot first' true at t2—allowing any amount of authorial fickleness, but giving a nod to the stare decicsis approach by not allowing overwrites. (Actually, said approach isn't unproblematic: does Alice's Adventures Under Ground take precedence over the published Alice's Adventures In Wonderland?)

But more than that, such thinking makes 'canon' look like a special case where there exists no more than one person who qualifies as an 'author' of the work in question (or some definable corporate entity), or multiple authors happen to agree even though they don't have to. And there's nothing obviously stopping a single author forking his own series (apart from the possible need to include confusion-dispelling release notes, which are perhaps not optimal for drawing in readers). So legal framework or none, I think I'll have to modify my interpretation of the author's role in deciding plot points: authors can expand the space of possibilities with new information, but I'm not sure they can close down already existing possibilities, and instead I think they maybe flip certain possibilities into a definite 'false' only relative to certain tokens of the $work type. I'm certainly going to have to think about this some more, though.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

‘Pastel works by European or Sri Lankan artists featuring a cat and at least two persons, one of them clad partly in blue’

Time for some more work notes. Things are coming together, but there are still many points of decided uncertainty: I expect my Scylla will be the risk of ending up with something not merely different but disconnected from previous heritage thinking, my Charybdis high compatibility but ending up taking a new route to unremarkable conclusions. In the current session of performing open heart surgery on my ideas, I want to ask whether the case of Outsider Art poses a difficulty for what I'm doing.


As I noted before, fandom involves valuing as a psychological act, or rather, a disposition towards it, whereas heritage looks more like a situation, not something that requires one to associate oneself with it in order to have it. So if I want to talk about 'use' and 'activity' in relation to heritage objects, it looks likely that I'll end up adding the qualification 'potential' (which does go nicely with the idea of bequeathing things to future generations). Demontrating the existence of activity, sometimes passionate activity, in relation to cultural objects is easy enough; but on the whole we think of archæological objects especially as being capable of being buried and forgotten about, and nonetheless sometimes (I'd contend always) able to qualify as cultural objects.

However, I'm keen to build activity into heritage because I think it offers a way of sidestepping the intrinsic/extrinsic value problem. Suppose someone points out that Holmes Rolston III uses a stamp collection as an example of something that can't have intrinsic value:

this is just the aggregated value of individual stamps. ... Nothing in the stamp collection is alive; the collection is neither self-generating nor self-maintaining. Neither stamp nor collection is valuable on its own.

I can reply that indeed the collection in itself isn't self-sustaining, but also that separating collection from collector is itself an artificial move.

I'm noting that the value of a collection can be more than the aggregate value of its members (hence e.g. the breaking up of libraries as a loss), and moving on to suggest that large-scale, complex phenomena like the Web can be ascribed a heritage value. Another aspect of that is the role of information in heritage, e.g. archæological context as part of what makes an artefact archæologically valuable:

...assemblage, context or provenance... are all now key concepts in archaeological theory and practice. To put it simply, there can be no archaeological reconstruction without knowledge of where an object was found (its provenance) and what it was found with it (its context)... Each of the individual objects found in [the Sutton Hoo ship] burial is of interest in itself, but their historical importance is magnified many times over once it is known that they were found together in a seventh-century AD Anglian ship burial.

That leads me to suggest that information is actually part of the heritage object (i.e. the physical thing and the information embodied in it are together the locus of heritage value).

The other ingredient involves looking at inspiration, adaptation, etc. One question that can be asked about the value of a work has to do with the role of its derivatives: does their value affect that of the original? (If a work inspires many others we might praise it for that reason; there’s no obvious reason not to extend that praise to derivative works which reuse elements of the original.) Or not? (If book A, unexceptionable in itself, inspires a somehow objectionable parody B, it seems intuitive that B’s reception should not taint A.) Wondering what happens to the integrity of Lovecraftiana when inserted into office comedy (Charles Stross, The Concrete Jungle), or Baker Street (Neil Gaiman's A Study In Emerald [PDF] and the rest of Shadows Over Baker Street), or video game development (Marc Laidlaw, The Vicar of R'lyeh) just makes me think (in the best philosophical tradition) that I need to re-examine the question. A third possibility seems to be that what primarily bears value is the cluster of ideas, themes, phrases, etc. manifested in the original and its derivatives together.

Since I've already set up a distinction between 'heritage' and {heritage objects}, and am working towards quite a fluid view of the former, there's some potential for denying a real distinction between 'people', 'their culture' and 'their heritage'.

So, the idea makes good sense; but in the cold light of day it still looks challenging. The Web gives me a nice case to work with, though: so nice, in fact, that I'm having trouble thinking of others as good to employ alongside it. At the moment I'm quite bothered by the heritage potential of Outsider Art: 'There is no organisation devoted to preserving these works and many have been lost. One man spent 15 years encrusting his entire garden with sculptures and sea shells, only to have it pulled down by his son with a JCB when he died.' While there seems to be a meaningful (if imprecise) category of 'Outsider Art', with many fascinating and beautiful works falling into it, by definition these works are disparate, and that makes the category tricky to identify as a locus of value, even though there's nothing obviously wrong with saying, 'Outsider Art is worth preserving'.

Following its introduction in 1972 by the British art historian Roger Cardinal, the notion of 'outsider art' has been subject to equally passionate waves of acceptance and opposition. For some, the term continues to serve as useful critical shorthand effectively encompassing a wide range of unconventional artistic production, including work by autodidacts, religious visionaries, the mentally ill, and a host of obsessive personalities. For others, to label someone an 'outsider artist' is frequently seen as a gesture of restriction that places these individuals, already alienated by their wildly divergent artistic practices, into aesthetic ghettos.
Marcus Davies, 'On Outsider Art and the Margins of the Mainstream'

It's not a wholly arbitrary category, like 'pastel works by European or Sri Lankan artists featuring a cat and at least two persons, one of them clad partly in blue'; but not only is there no movement, there's no milieu. A category like '18th Century French paintings' involves wholly extrinsic qualities, but with my approach understanding how value might be loosely attributed to the category isn't difficult: the works collectively form the context for each other (and we'll take 'century' to be used loosely). For Outsider Art that won't work. 'Unlike popular or folk art, an overwhelming sense of dramatic rupture is what may be said to be the single defining and unifying element of outsider art, wrenching it from any historical context and rendering comparison nearly impossible.' (Ibid) A specific piece of Outsider Art will have some kind of context, though its relation to mainstream art will be negative, but Outsider Art as a category is something else again.

Well, maybe the category has no value of its own—but by what method could I tell? Besides, much has been written about the category of Outsider Art: how do we go about assessing the value of that material? Maybe this is where I should bring in information: the category 'Outsider Art' is basically an information object, and it's as information that it's valuable, making the category and the works on Outsider Art into a combined whole which (as information) is a value-bearer.

That looks promising. I think the obvious rejoinder is going to be, surely not all information is created equal, so how shall we evaluate this information? And isn't it information about... Outsider Art, making it no solution?

I think my response to the first point would have to be that to talk of an absolute value for information is silly: the value of a piece of information depends on what you want to do with it. (Value in potential use, again.) Although admittedly I did start off looking for quasi-intrinsic value in heritage... I am bothered by the question of how the content of information works here, and I think what I'll do is expand the theme of information in the heritage objects generally in the next post in this series.

‘All is but toys: renown and grace is dead’

Reading Rock, Paper, Shotgun's Remembrance Day Cannon Fodder retrospective, I started thinking again about the 'media effects' schools, and how they tend to rely on the idea that a given work sends an unambiguous 'message' in support of whatever activity. Cannon Fodder is actually one of the clearest, in that it sets out to make a point about war, and it does that by playing with the idea of a 'game' as a source of fun and a representation of warfare. It's arguable that the irony exposes something about the nature of the medium, i.e. that it works by sending up 'normal' gaming treatment of war (and thereby exposing it for what it is); as Gillen observes: 'Almost all wargames have a title which directly glorifies war.' (On reflection, maybe that doesn't distinguish clearly enough between glorifying war and glorifying warriors: 'Medal of Hono[u]r' and 'Call of Duty' seem to be concerned with the sort of personal qualities and motivations which properly distinguish the soldier from the mere killer—whether or not the just war theory is satisfied for the war as a whole.) To an extent that must be right: war and playing on an Amiga are significantly different. (Insert McLuhan reference.) Yet games are in some sense representational, i.e. wargames are such because in some respect what goes on in them is set up to resemble war; and resemblance to the real isn't congenial to sending messages. The act of playing for fun isn't part of the represational content; it's part of what's done with it. Which suggests that the irony is directed not so much at the market as at the player, who isn't so much knowing and superior as complicit: you can sit there smugly singing along and enjoying yourself, but really, would you be ready to take that sprite's place—i.e. that man's place?

A related puzzle: if the Cannon Fodder intro song has a certain 'message', what happens when, for example, Press Play On Tape use it in a game controller showcase? I don't think it can be said to change the message; it's more a sense that there's yet another level of representation added on top, with the song itself become a part of gaming culture. And so we live on—

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Drifting

This post is dedicated to anyone who was ever disappointed to learn that Lemuria isn't where lemurs come from. Just because.

Messages in bottles, a collage of mysteries, and something that defies description


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Another dreamy romance: the message in a bottle, drifting to recipients unknown. Nowadays we have the Internet, and Oceangram and Islandgram competing for neologistic acceptance; but the only thing that can really outdo the evocative expanse of the ocean is casting records into the starfields.

When I was a child reading about stranded mariners there was no Great Pacific Garbage Patch involved: the bottle would of course wash up on some faraway beach, ready to be found by a curious beachcomber. Of all the childhood fantasies to have spoilt, that seems a sorry one.


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ScruTiny image

Checking up on a page of illusorily three-dimensional GIFs, I had a glance around the site and am wondering what ScruTiny in the Great Round is about: the Shockwave demo basically tells me it references Blake and not much else. (If the makers of Prospero's Books had been considering a change of career back when people talked about 'multimedia', some enigma like this might have resulted.) The visual style is very intriguing, though: reminiscent of many styles, but not quite fitting any framework I can summon to mind.


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I have no idea what to make of this (slightly NSFW) video. None at all. [Update: removed by the user, apparently, and I can't actually remember what it was like.]



Feel Very Proud of Yourself

cash advance [is their advertisement ALT text, possibly an abuse of some RFC somewhere; it's actually an image telling you that the reading level is'Genius']

Secrecy/2.0 (compatible; Ekranoplan 1.0; Escritoire)

I didn't actually find out until today that there was a 'Locking Up the Sun' music video. (The image below does not, in fact, depict Where's Wally? – Extreme Edition.) Will I have Kafkaesque nightmares? Tonight I find out, I suppose—

Locking Up the Sun

A secret non-plane, secret compartments, and User Agent spotting


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'Secret project' is a term with a certain resonance, and among secret military projects the Ekranoplan looks quite interesting. The Caspian Sea Monster manages to be doubly secret by looking like a plane but turning out to be a marine vehicle.



Scale models are quite tempting, but a shade perverse when the most striking characteristic of the original is its size.


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People like secret compartments even if they do no good. They make us feel secure.

Secret compartments (for security, not puzzlement) also have a romantic tone: maybe you'll find yourself in the position of a Kierkegaardian character or, failing that, make some more mundane historical discovery. So it's a shade depressing to learn that owing to potential criminal use secret compartments have proved unpopular with legislators in some places; but there's still plenty of room for conspiracy theories—the romance principally coming from the possibility of chancing upon some previous concealer's treasures, preferably cryptic documents or something similarly capable of stimulating the imagination. Where security is concerned I favour a decent lock: secret compartments are for leaving revelations to bemused posterity.


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Your logs may have entries for strange-sounding User Agents, including Arachnoidea, Atomz, BunnySlippers, ChristCRAWLER, Cowbot, Dumbot, Snoopy and even "Ziggy -- The Clown From Hell!!"

Sadly, perhaps, the oddest user agent seen on this weblog was Internet Explorer 5.5. Bots Vs. Browsers have 2,206 'unidentified' user agent strings, but unfortunately there's a tonne of gibberish: notable exceptions include Chris, Critical_Error, Defaced, My Browser, Touche and HA! No User Agent for You!

Apparently there's someone using the string Bond/007; UK; Licensed to Kill (perhaps acquired from Everything2). We're actively invited to become Yuki-Onna's ice minion. Then there are opinion pieces: Firefox 0.9.2 (The intelligent alternative) contrasts with Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; Evil; SV1; .NET CLR 1.0.3705; .NET CLR 1.1.4322).

Perhaps the best, though, may be quite mundane in The Future: Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; Miele W1215 Washing Machine).

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

In the Future, It Will Be a Suffix Simply Meaning ‘Genre’

Flinging together a Wordie list of -punk genres (cyberpunk, steampunk, etc.), I came across a discussion about the broad possibilities of the theme: naturally I'm tempted to add to the descent into total redundancy of the -punk element. (Though I wonder whether Plato's gadfly dialogues might qualify as philosophopunk. Philosopunk gets some search engine hits, but only one good English one; most seem to be German, possibly musical...) This isn't exactly a little-trodden path. Castlepunk? 'Final Fantasy – Castlepunk' has appeared in someone's Eyes On FF forum autosig. Hopepunk? Hopepunk.com. Torypunk? It's in camelcase, so it may not be intended as a single word, but it's still someone's YouTube username. Join the revolution—

  • Dreampunk could be dream-related literature (Sandman, Lovecraft's Dream Cycle, etc.): the word seems to be in use in various places (and I especially like the Silk Cut approach), but not as a genre term.
  • Foodpunk, as it turns out, also exists, but fails to denote the genre of gourmandising digressions in literature. (See also: Jacques, Brian.)
  • Google keeps asking, when I enquire after squidpunk, whether I meant to search for 'squeedunk'; let's combine them and define squeepunk as that style characteristic of fangirl composition. (Only one search result: it's the first part of someone's Hotmail address.)
  • Burrowpunk for stories set predominantly underground. (Yay, no hits—)
  • Orcpunk: badly written elfpunk. (Or this person.)

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Clippings

In Durham there are two branches of Boots, two branches of Thorntons, two branches of Waterstone's, and but one small cabin in the market that sells my chosen brand of toothpaste.

Bookish delights


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While reading about marginalia I came upon David Langford's short essay on footnotes and a response with some interesting comments attached. simstim's I especially like:

I had an idea for a Borgesian short story (which, alas, I do not have the literary skills to attempt to put into practice) where a footnote in an otherwise non-descript book discovered in an otherwise non-descript secondhand bookshop has its own footnote (in yet smaller type). This footnote in turn has another footnote (in yet smaller type) and so on. Each footnote contains some useful piece of information. Science and scholarly endeavour are abandoned in favour of merely developing ever more powerful magnification techniques to uncover yet more information from the recursive footnotes.

Footnotes are a kind of playground, aren't they? So often just a place to stack citations, they're also the place where digression is allowed, a sort of release valve and sanctioned zone where ∗, † and ‡ read the sermon.


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Some delicious details in another bookish article:

Jacques Cujas, a sixteenth-century legal scholar, astonished visitors to his study when he showed them the rotating barber’s chair and movable bookstand that enabled him to keep many open books in view at the same time. Thomas Harrison, a seventeenth-century English inventor, devised a cabinet that he called the Ark of Studies: readers could synopsize and excerpt books and then arrange their notes by subject on a series of labelled metal hooks, somewhat in the manner of a card index. The German philosopher Leibniz obtained one of Harrison’s cabinets and used it in his research.

I found some more information on the Ark of Studies, and thankfully it has pictures. Meanwhile, I've met people who smell their books recreationally, but it gets better...

Duguid describes watching a fellow-historian systematically sniff two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old letters in an archive. By detecting the smell of vinegar—which had been sprinkled, in the eighteenth century, on letters from towns struck by cholera, in the hope of disinfecting them—he could trace the history of disease outbreaks.

Visions of Advantage

In the family library is a copy of Glad to Be Grey: Or, My Other Car's Also a Volvo; A Celebration of Dullness. (A good read, especially with its facts about Thames mud collectors, the less-than-scintillating title of A Million Random Digits with 100,000 Normal Deviates, and so on, which undermine their premise by being rather interesting.) Dullness is underappreciated: charges of a lack of vision are flung at a legislative programme in which some of the more dramatic elements are unjust (incarceration for possession of 'extreme pornography'), underhand (the EU Reform Treaty Bill), extensions of dodgy principles (a crime of inciting hatred against disabled people), or posturing (the Constitutional Renewal (draft) Bill). While on the other hand I am interested to see that two heritage bills are included. There can be something resembling a sensible debate about heritage, whereas terrorism legislation, seemingly becoming a companion to the Outlawries Bill (and not necessarily any more practical), simply makes me nervous.

Demands for 'vision' simpliciter seem strange: there are so many visions of how things might be done differently, with various attractions and disadvantages. Yet I'm not even sure that an alternative vision is being sought: maybe a feeling of inspiration is what's felt to be lacking, an impetus and overall sense of direction to drive policy towards its ends, not so much the content as the glamour. It's a question of both Zeitgeist and leadership, though; nobody can open up visions beyond the public will to realise them, which amply accounts for the 'Like today, only more so, but greener' school. Conversely, the vision really needs to be a sketch: the colours should be left for other people to paint.

My vision showed myself, enchanter,
Lord within my mirrored hall,
Psychomancer, dream-implanter:
One Leviathan in all.