Psychophant's Rants
28.1.09
When he says "Change" I hear "Adapt"
I seldom deal with external subjects, probably because I feel unsecure discussing those events in an unidirectional way. But this is so big it even impacts me.
Like most of the world, I like President Obama, more for what he represents than what he is, or what he may accomplish. His symbolic significance is so big that other matters seem to be secondary. And he seems willing to use that symbolic power to actually do something.
Such as the "Change" meme. He epitomizes the new and the never tried before, so it is normal that he uses change as his personal buzzword. However it does not ring true to me. In a way, it is as if his own ascension to the post of President has exhausted the ability for change he had. Now he will do what is expected of him (which does not mean there will not be changes in the government, just few changes in him) because he cannot do otherwise. As a friend told me "He has a limited toolbox, like Bush did. He has a different toolbox, however."
In a way, he was changeable and flexible in the campaign run. But when he becomes President I fear he will become cast in place, and his capacity for maneuver will be limited. It is still wonderful, but it is not real Change in action, just a Change in principles.
When seeing from outside the policies of Bush, it appeared to me that he was actually working to keep the USA from changing its way of life, and in the process destroying that same way of life. Because he believed that was his duty. Force the world to adapt to the US superpowerful nanny, rather than prepare the USA for a quickly changing world.
That at least appears again from where I fence-sit to have changed. Obama has dared to propose that the USA should adapt to the present, rather than try to make the present adapt to the USA. And that is what this is about, not a matter of changing (to what? can I choose? will I notice it?) but of adapting. The difference is that change appears to be a voluntary action, while adaptation is compulsory. Do it or disappear. Become extinct. And that is the challenge the West is facing, in many different ways. It is not "change to be better", it is "change to survive", which is what Obama means.
The problem is that we do not know where we are going to, so we ignore what we will end up adapting for (I was going to say "if we survive till then" but humanity, many humans, will surely get there, though I ignore if I and those like me will).
It is not "Change once and you are safe". It is "Change continuously and you will get somewhere". Just the wrong moment to feel old and tired, but I should consider that with the current medical advances, if I manage to keep a reasonable lifestyle I have over 40 years left. So much potential change that I better start adapting now.
Now I am looking forward to the next elections, that wonderful moment when a politician may reinvent his position, and truly change. When he can offer a New Deal. Because to do at any other time would be irresponsible and a betrayal of the people who elected her. Which is not to say that it does not happen, but usually it ends badly. Let's keep our optimism, it helps to make the effort worthwhile. ¶ 7:06 PM
I seldom deal with external subjects, probably because I feel unsecure discussing those events in an unidirectional way. But this is so big it even impacts me.
Like most of the world, I like President Obama, more for what he represents than what he is, or what he may accomplish. His symbolic significance is so big that other matters seem to be secondary. And he seems willing to use that symbolic power to actually do something.
Such as the "Change" meme. He epitomizes the new and the never tried before, so it is normal that he uses change as his personal buzzword. However it does not ring true to me. In a way, it is as if his own ascension to the post of President has exhausted the ability for change he had. Now he will do what is expected of him (which does not mean there will not be changes in the government, just few changes in him) because he cannot do otherwise. As a friend told me "He has a limited toolbox, like Bush did. He has a different toolbox, however."
In a way, he was changeable and flexible in the campaign run. But when he becomes President I fear he will become cast in place, and his capacity for maneuver will be limited. It is still wonderful, but it is not real Change in action, just a Change in principles.
When seeing from outside the policies of Bush, it appeared to me that he was actually working to keep the USA from changing its way of life, and in the process destroying that same way of life. Because he believed that was his duty. Force the world to adapt to the US superpowerful nanny, rather than prepare the USA for a quickly changing world.
That at least appears again from where I fence-sit to have changed. Obama has dared to propose that the USA should adapt to the present, rather than try to make the present adapt to the USA. And that is what this is about, not a matter of changing (to what? can I choose? will I notice it?) but of adapting. The difference is that change appears to be a voluntary action, while adaptation is compulsory. Do it or disappear. Become extinct. And that is the challenge the West is facing, in many different ways. It is not "change to be better", it is "change to survive", which is what Obama means.
The problem is that we do not know where we are going to, so we ignore what we will end up adapting for (I was going to say "if we survive till then" but humanity, many humans, will surely get there, though I ignore if I and those like me will).
It is not "Change once and you are safe". It is "Change continuously and you will get somewhere". Just the wrong moment to feel old and tired, but I should consider that with the current medical advances, if I manage to keep a reasonable lifestyle I have over 40 years left. So much potential change that I better start adapting now.
Now I am looking forward to the next elections, that wonderful moment when a politician may reinvent his position, and truly change. When he can offer a New Deal. Because to do at any other time would be irresponsible and a betrayal of the people who elected her. Which is not to say that it does not happen, but usually it ends badly. Let's keep our optimism, it helps to make the effort worthwhile. ¶ 7:06 PM
26.1.09
Selective Memory
Although I mentioned "bit-rot" the other day, I am not sure if I am "in" or not concerning the use of web-terminology. So just in case, bit-rot for me is the gradual loss of information in online references as the links and images they call are lost, disconnected or modified.
Webpages can be updated, with some work, but archives or fixed media links become obsolescent even before published.
Looking back in time there are many of this bit-rotten pieces of information, roads to nowhere, musings erased out of shame, or boredom, or carelessness.
However those are not so interesting as those that arise from live pages, those that are lost because the style changed, or the software, or the site-map was rationalized, or simply the new sysop needed some extra memory space. It goes beyond simply growing up to enter the realm of selective memory.
Sometimes the "fossil trace", the obsolete links that brought you to a different incarnation of the page, can hint at was forgotten: Great pictures of my wedding. However most of the time they are tantalizingly vague: Must-see, or Best discussion on peace in the Middle East ever!.
It is unlikely that losing that blogpage will mean we are losing a great solution to the problems in the Middle East, but the hint of lost or even forbidden knowledge makes me wonder. Exactly why did that blog stop? Why did that handle disappear? How much are we forgetting every second.
Some people say the internet does not forget, but in fact it does forget in a manner very similar to us. The information is still around, usually, if you know how to look, but it often is inaccesible (off-line), overwritten or simply falsified by a modified memory that claims to be the original.
For instance, as I mentioned the 13/9/07, the only trace of the former name of this blog, besides probably some blogspot logs, an offline old link pages (if they have not been deleted or disassembled) and the meat memory of a few people, is in a fossil blog, from November 2005. Otherwise, for someone who just stumbles on this blog, it has had the same name since 2003, and I have been the Psychophant also since then (although that would require a few more selective deletions, to have a clean memory trace, besides the simple erasure of any mention of the former handle).
Maybe it is my age and upbringing, but these unreliable memories upset me. Which is why I usually prefer fixed reality information sources, because they are as fallible, but they show not only the truth of the moment, but also the process that has taken the past into the present. A present where the fact that we are no longer friends does not mean we were not friends (as deleting the "friend" tag does, in the electronic realm).
Nevertheless, I was the first that, when I believed I needed a change, moved the page, changed the names, revised the trace. Because the internet also lets you keep the illusion that you can start anew, try again from scratch, explore a different angle. An illusion, because it is the same you, with the same memories, who lurks behind the handle. And you do not have a selective memory. So, it is useful as a tool to explore new possibilities or to explore yourself, but you are still the same, no matter how many virtual facelifts you apply. And you can change, or forget, but still using the traditional way. ¶ 6:43 PM
Although I mentioned "bit-rot" the other day, I am not sure if I am "in" or not concerning the use of web-terminology. So just in case, bit-rot for me is the gradual loss of information in online references as the links and images they call are lost, disconnected or modified.
Webpages can be updated, with some work, but archives or fixed media links become obsolescent even before published.
Looking back in time there are many of this bit-rotten pieces of information, roads to nowhere, musings erased out of shame, or boredom, or carelessness.
However those are not so interesting as those that arise from live pages, those that are lost because the style changed, or the software, or the site-map was rationalized, or simply the new sysop needed some extra memory space. It goes beyond simply growing up to enter the realm of selective memory.
Sometimes the "fossil trace", the obsolete links that brought you to a different incarnation of the page, can hint at was forgotten: Great pictures of my wedding. However most of the time they are tantalizingly vague: Must-see, or Best discussion on peace in the Middle East ever!.
It is unlikely that losing that blogpage will mean we are losing a great solution to the problems in the Middle East, but the hint of lost or even forbidden knowledge makes me wonder. Exactly why did that blog stop? Why did that handle disappear? How much are we forgetting every second.
Some people say the internet does not forget, but in fact it does forget in a manner very similar to us. The information is still around, usually, if you know how to look, but it often is inaccesible (off-line), overwritten or simply falsified by a modified memory that claims to be the original.
For instance, as I mentioned the 13/9/07, the only trace of the former name of this blog, besides probably some blogspot logs, an offline old link pages (if they have not been deleted or disassembled) and the meat memory of a few people, is in a fossil blog, from November 2005. Otherwise, for someone who just stumbles on this blog, it has had the same name since 2003, and I have been the Psychophant also since then (although that would require a few more selective deletions, to have a clean memory trace, besides the simple erasure of any mention of the former handle).
Maybe it is my age and upbringing, but these unreliable memories upset me. Which is why I usually prefer fixed reality information sources, because they are as fallible, but they show not only the truth of the moment, but also the process that has taken the past into the present. A present where the fact that we are no longer friends does not mean we were not friends (as deleting the "friend" tag does, in the electronic realm).
Nevertheless, I was the first that, when I believed I needed a change, moved the page, changed the names, revised the trace. Because the internet also lets you keep the illusion that you can start anew, try again from scratch, explore a different angle. An illusion, because it is the same you, with the same memories, who lurks behind the handle. And you do not have a selective memory. So, it is useful as a tool to explore new possibilities or to explore yourself, but you are still the same, no matter how many virtual facelifts you apply. And you can change, or forget, but still using the traditional way. ¶ 6:43 PM
23.1.09
The beauty of the days gone by
The beauty of the days gone by
It brings a longing to my soul
To contemplate my own true self
And keep me young as I grow old.
Van Morrison
Just a quick post to indicate that I actually am restricting myself to the good parts, when delving in the past, although that is still certainly enough to bring a longing to my soul and loss to my mind. I do not think it is by chance that I am listening to a lot of Van Morrison music as well. I am too selfish to be really depressed. If I stop enjoying cooking or food, that would be the sign. So you can stop kicking me in the butt, please.
Unfortunately old man Van has aggresively purged the internet of samples of his work available for free, so I cannot link to the song. I am sure you will have no trouble if you are really interested.
In the Book of the New Sun, the main character, Severian, who is afflicted with a near perfect recall, talks about the curse of losing yourself in your memories when reliving something pleasant. Fortunately I do not have such a good memory, but it is good enough that, with a good enough prod from the right setting, I can immerse myself in some reconstructed past, and stay in that kind of reverie for some time.
Of course, who would seek solace in the past but who is unhappy in the present? Well, it is not such an easy explanation, as you can be unhappy in certain moments, or happy at others. I am revising the final draft of the first doctorate thesis I have ever directed, and it already is longer than any previous one in the Chemistry Faculty. The responsibility is getting to me, not to mention that my daily work is still there. If you think I am long winded, consider that the introduction alone is longer than my own thesis.
Many weird actions these days come from spending too many hours reading and rewriting text in a screen, for hours, and getting a short break from the silica-rubber-tyre trio. I have three days and three hundred pages remaining, so I will probably get weirder before I get back to normal. ¶ 4:40 PM
The beauty of the days gone by
It brings a longing to my soul
To contemplate my own true self
And keep me young as I grow old.
Van Morrison
Just a quick post to indicate that I actually am restricting myself to the good parts, when delving in the past, although that is still certainly enough to bring a longing to my soul and loss to my mind. I do not think it is by chance that I am listening to a lot of Van Morrison music as well. I am too selfish to be really depressed. If I stop enjoying cooking or food, that would be the sign. So you can stop kicking me in the butt, please.
Unfortunately old man Van has aggresively purged the internet of samples of his work available for free, so I cannot link to the song. I am sure you will have no trouble if you are really interested.
In the Book of the New Sun, the main character, Severian, who is afflicted with a near perfect recall, talks about the curse of losing yourself in your memories when reliving something pleasant. Fortunately I do not have such a good memory, but it is good enough that, with a good enough prod from the right setting, I can immerse myself in some reconstructed past, and stay in that kind of reverie for some time.
Of course, who would seek solace in the past but who is unhappy in the present? Well, it is not such an easy explanation, as you can be unhappy in certain moments, or happy at others. I am revising the final draft of the first doctorate thesis I have ever directed, and it already is longer than any previous one in the Chemistry Faculty. The responsibility is getting to me, not to mention that my daily work is still there. If you think I am long winded, consider that the introduction alone is longer than my own thesis.
Many weird actions these days come from spending too many hours reading and rewriting text in a screen, for hours, and getting a short break from the silica-rubber-tyre trio. I have three days and three hundred pages remaining, so I will probably get weirder before I get back to normal. ¶ 4:40 PM
22.1.09
Time
Some people appear immune to the effect of change, at least from our own, limited view. Always doing the same things, without apparent suffering or effort, as if what they do is what they were born to do, and what they will do till their death.
The foray last week in the past me, six years ago, has confirmed I am not one of them.
In this six years a lot of things have changed, including my working capacity. I am wiser, maybe even better balanced, and probably more socially capable than I was. Social interaction, new interesting people from different parts of the world, fantasies fulfilled or failed, unpleasant truths faced. But what also has happened is, and although that may sound pretentious I was not really aware of it before, that I have become aware of my own aging, and the weakening that comes with it.
My health has always been quite good, and practising only occasional sports, it is not self-evident that my effectiveness is decreasing. Even that inexorable sign of age, failing eyesight, has so far spared me while my acquaintances need new glasses or need help with some small print. I still feel the same way I did in my thirties, and better than some overweight periods.
But seeing what I did back when I was 36, how I spent my days, how I worked ten hours a day, slept five hours and I still partied the week-end (much less than in my twenties, but back then I slept seven hours a day) and was three hours on the internet, which after all was the main reason why I only slept five hours.
Then there are all those small signs that you can ignore most of the time, but not all the time. How I have gone from three hundred book pages a day to two hundred. Or those mental reflexes tests, where you go worse rather than better with practice. Even the games are not the same, as the aiming dot seems every year smaller and less willing to go where you want it to.
In a way, it is my own good luck what makes it harder, as I know some people, mainly at work consider me an example of the first paragraph, unchanged in the last ten years, maybe a bit less hair, a bit whiter what remains. I am still the one to lug upstairs the heavy loads, if only because they represent a smaller fraction of my bodyweight. But I do not have the same curiosity either, the same interest in the results, the same eagerness to share the good news or spread the bad news. And that is so clear in the internet traces. The eagerness then, the jadedness now. Why bother flaming someone, posting something, unless it is someone I care for. But even those get fewer and fewer, and some I do care for, get lost in the wheels of the machine, so it gets harder to keep in touch.
I can even see the responses, and maybe I will be kicked to make me stand rather than slouch here in the sun, whining than the past days were better. I know they were not better, they were much worse, but it is sad that it seems we lose the good with the bad, get rid of sadness and joy does not feel as joyful. And you get used to loss that once you thought would break you in two, when the exquisite intensity of that pain seemed almost enough to keep you alive for ever, and now it is a dull ache that you can safely ignore unless you hit it with the emotional equivalent of a hammer.
Maybe it is only that I am maturing late, so I am getting my delayed mental maturity. At least that is what my wisdom teeth seem to think. The third one is finally making an appeareance. One every ten years... ¶ 9:22 AM
Some people appear immune to the effect of change, at least from our own, limited view. Always doing the same things, without apparent suffering or effort, as if what they do is what they were born to do, and what they will do till their death.
The foray last week in the past me, six years ago, has confirmed I am not one of them.
In this six years a lot of things have changed, including my working capacity. I am wiser, maybe even better balanced, and probably more socially capable than I was. Social interaction, new interesting people from different parts of the world, fantasies fulfilled or failed, unpleasant truths faced. But what also has happened is, and although that may sound pretentious I was not really aware of it before, that I have become aware of my own aging, and the weakening that comes with it.
My health has always been quite good, and practising only occasional sports, it is not self-evident that my effectiveness is decreasing. Even that inexorable sign of age, failing eyesight, has so far spared me while my acquaintances need new glasses or need help with some small print. I still feel the same way I did in my thirties, and better than some overweight periods.
But seeing what I did back when I was 36, how I spent my days, how I worked ten hours a day, slept five hours and I still partied the week-end (much less than in my twenties, but back then I slept seven hours a day) and was three hours on the internet, which after all was the main reason why I only slept five hours.
Then there are all those small signs that you can ignore most of the time, but not all the time. How I have gone from three hundred book pages a day to two hundred. Or those mental reflexes tests, where you go worse rather than better with practice. Even the games are not the same, as the aiming dot seems every year smaller and less willing to go where you want it to.
In a way, it is my own good luck what makes it harder, as I know some people, mainly at work consider me an example of the first paragraph, unchanged in the last ten years, maybe a bit less hair, a bit whiter what remains. I am still the one to lug upstairs the heavy loads, if only because they represent a smaller fraction of my bodyweight. But I do not have the same curiosity either, the same interest in the results, the same eagerness to share the good news or spread the bad news. And that is so clear in the internet traces. The eagerness then, the jadedness now. Why bother flaming someone, posting something, unless it is someone I care for. But even those get fewer and fewer, and some I do care for, get lost in the wheels of the machine, so it gets harder to keep in touch.
I can even see the responses, and maybe I will be kicked to make me stand rather than slouch here in the sun, whining than the past days were better. I know they were not better, they were much worse, but it is sad that it seems we lose the good with the bad, get rid of sadness and joy does not feel as joyful. And you get used to loss that once you thought would break you in two, when the exquisite intensity of that pain seemed almost enough to keep you alive for ever, and now it is a dull ache that you can safely ignore unless you hit it with the emotional equivalent of a hammer.
Maybe it is only that I am maturing late, so I am getting my delayed mental maturity. At least that is what my wisdom teeth seem to think. The third one is finally making an appeareance. One every ten years... ¶ 9:22 AM
13.1.09
Bit-rotten Nostalgia
I do not know if it is because I actually have more free time at work than during the holidays. Or the new year in the same package. Or the cold wave making me stay at home. But I am feeling quite down these days.
And as usual when down, I have fallen prey to a morbid obsession, one to do with that excess free time above, as well as staying at home rather than checking the Sales. It is all a vicious circle.
This week's obsession is with the past. I have been checking my own activities in the summer of 2003, to see if it was as earth shaking as I recall from the distance. The results, as any common sense would have warned me, were bitter sweet, so bitter that I had to stop in the middle of September.
A couple of sources are still available online, but many others have succumbed to bit-rot, the natural decay of missing links and lost servers. Even my own e-mails from that period are lost, victims of a computer change and security zeal.
The result is a composite mosaic with missing pieces. Still, there are not so many lacking that it is not possible to see the general shapes. Reality, or the subjective view of my more experienced current self as opposed to my naive self back then, shows that hindsight is not perfect when there are records missing, but it gets a more balanced view. A view where I was farther from the center than I thought, and yet that same ignorance kept me happy and involved.
A friend advised me that I had to kick my own butt, and kickstart the new year. Certainly that was not the best way. So I have been rereading another victim of bit-rot, though this one is more resistant, Penny Arcade, and also an excellent, if raw, Swedish web comic, Anders loves Maria. At least Anders is much more self.destructive than I have ever been. Still Nostalgia, but a safer one, as my twenties are safely sanitized.
In the end, I have to live with the fellow inside my skull, so it is how he remembers things what matters, not how they really were. He seems willing to review some memories, if offered enough data.
A couple of sources are still available online, but many others have succumbed to bit-rot, the natural decay of missing links and lost servers. Even my own e-mails from that period are lost, victims of a computer change and security zeal.
The result is a composite mosaic with missing pieces. Still, there are not so many lacking that it is not possible to see the general shapes. Reality, or the subjective view of my more experienced current self as opposed to my naive self back then, shows that hindsight is not perfect when there are records missing, but it gets a more balanced view. A view where I was farther from the center than I thought, and yet that same ignorance kept me happy and involved.
A friend advised me that I had to kick my own butt, and kickstart the new year. Certainly that was not the best way. So I have been rereading another victim of bit-rot, though this one is more resistant, Penny Arcade, and also an excellent, if raw, Swedish web comic, Anders loves Maria. At least Anders is much more self.destructive than I have ever been. Still Nostalgia, but a safer one, as my twenties are safely sanitized.
In the end, I have to live with the fellow inside my skull, so it is how he remembers things what matters, not how they really were. He seems willing to review some memories, if offered enough data.
7.1.09
Holiday Interlude
These days I have been in holidays. It was a side effect of the economic crisis, but I have been on holidays for two weeks, and spending quite a big amount of money.
I have also noticed a side effect of the holidays, and it is how weak my internet presence has been, both keeping in touch with virtual acquaintances and simply following my usual interests. Even with all the free time I supposedly had, it always seemed that there was something more interesting somewhere else, without using the computer. If books had been losing out against the computer these last weeks, these days the balance has turned, and I have finished quite a few books.
This interference of the real world, with meals, cooking, long-lost friends, in many cases memories from the past, and the hunt for presents, block my virtual life. So, as I turned virtual because I was not satisfied with my real life, I forsake the virtual when the real life becomes absorbing.
That does not mean I have not used the internet, but it has been that, using, not living in the internet world. Hunting for recipes, or for news, or checking some odd fact that cropped up in the typical family conversation (our typical family conversation would deal with the ancestry of Emperor Rudolph II or Galbraith's usefulness in today's crisis).
I am sure the new generation, having grown up without that false dichotomy, will not suffer this differentiation between the real and the virtual, considering both as part of the social building blocks. However a latecomer like me, who started using e-mail in my twenties and SMS in my thirties, I have a baggage of different experiences, and very few friends who are active in both domains. The worrying consequence is that I am unable to keep things going by e-mail with real life friends, and I tend to be awkward when meeting virtual friends. Only a chosen few have managed to get close both virtually and physically. Or I have made the effort to make it work, depending on how you see it. ¶ 6:57 PM
These days I have been in holidays. It was a side effect of the economic crisis, but I have been on holidays for two weeks, and spending quite a big amount of money.
I have also noticed a side effect of the holidays, and it is how weak my internet presence has been, both keeping in touch with virtual acquaintances and simply following my usual interests. Even with all the free time I supposedly had, it always seemed that there was something more interesting somewhere else, without using the computer. If books had been losing out against the computer these last weeks, these days the balance has turned, and I have finished quite a few books.
This interference of the real world, with meals, cooking, long-lost friends, in many cases memories from the past, and the hunt for presents, block my virtual life. So, as I turned virtual because I was not satisfied with my real life, I forsake the virtual when the real life becomes absorbing.
That does not mean I have not used the internet, but it has been that, using, not living in the internet world. Hunting for recipes, or for news, or checking some odd fact that cropped up in the typical family conversation (our typical family conversation would deal with the ancestry of Emperor Rudolph II or Galbraith's usefulness in today's crisis).
I am sure the new generation, having grown up without that false dichotomy, will not suffer this differentiation between the real and the virtual, considering both as part of the social building blocks. However a latecomer like me, who started using e-mail in my twenties and SMS in my thirties, I have a baggage of different experiences, and very few friends who are active in both domains. The worrying consequence is that I am unable to keep things going by e-mail with real life friends, and I tend to be awkward when meeting virtual friends. Only a chosen few have managed to get close both virtually and physically. Or I have made the effort to make it work, depending on how you see it. ¶ 6:57 PM
