To the Earth! And all who sail in her, and fly in her, and drive in her...

If you saw C4's 'The Great Global Warming Swindle' you might have been left, like me, feeling rather flummoxed and wondering what to believe.

It is worth catching a repeat showing - but not without a pinch of salt - even just to see what some might call 'propaganda' at work! The programme sparked a lot of discussion. Here are some good rebuttals.

MediaLens

George Monbiot

The Independent

Quantum Graffiti

I’ve started cycling to work. It’s great, though I recently discovered my brakes don’t work in the rain. I’m lucky to have a rather pleasant route; briefly through Botanic Park, along the towpath by the river and then I have my own lane as I pedal the Ormeau Embankment. After that it gets a bit scrappy, but I’m not complaining.

Thanks to a certain questioning mural artist, every morning on my way to work I’m left considering how quantum gravity might help explain the origin of the universe. Hmmm... how could it possibly? Oh, wait a minute - what the hell is quantum gravity? This, I suspect, is part of the artist’s vision. I don’t know who the artist is, but perhaps, as a ram-pressured space rock flew through the earth’s atmosphere, she hoped that passers-by would investigate this area of physics. Or maybe she is unconvinced that quantum physics has anything to bring to the discussion of where the universe came from, and she wished upon that shooting star that we would just look up and be amazed.

Well, I went with the former. A quick search in wikipedia pointed out that quantum gravity is basically the missing link, as it were, in the well known “Theory Of Everything”; that holy grail in which physicists try to piece together the three fundamental forces of quantum mechanics (electromagnetism, and the weak and strong interactions) with general relativity’s fundamental gravitational force. You’ve heard of it before. They’re still working on it.

And, would you believe it, quantum gravity does indeed throw its tuppence into the discussion pot. As opposed to conventional Ex nihilo theories (that appeal to the traditional religious mind), M-theory, according to some of its proponents, suggests that the universe was birthed when two multidimensional membranes (often called 'p-branes', I kid thee not) collided into one another. And, if the theory is correct, the number crunching tells us that the observable universe in which we live is an 11-dimensional spacetime.

I’m lost. But it is fun, isn’t it? I like living in an 11-dimensional universe, having always felt a little constricted in the four I can name.

String theory (M-theory being big in this field as it ties five superstring theories together) is very popular, but I’ve heard some rebels are beginning to doubt its afore-assumed messianic potential of unifying quantum theory and relativity. Academia, having spent 30 years delightedly muttering “surely” to string theory, have among them doubters who propose a new tack - one of creative thinking (in the style of Einstein sitting atop a light beam, I suppose) - in an effort to crack this quantum nut because, after all this time, the sums still don‘t quite add up. Less mathematics around the assumed answer, and more guessing outside the box, suggests Smolin, for one. He likes to encourage lay folks, like myself, by confessing that physicists are as befuddled as the rest of us.

Looking back to the mural, I pause a little longer, and consider the artist’s other question. For it can be no accident that if we drop the last line the question becomes, “How can quantum gravity explain theo?” Nice touch. It already felt like we were delving into the realms of philosophy and religion as we tagged along with the outer stretches of the physicists’ minds as they searched for the impossible equation. Though not interchangeable, there are surely similarities in the two questions. For if God spoke and, (in a theoretically rather old-fashioned manner for Almighty to choose) Ex nihilo, there was, we are still left with the mystery of God‘s beginning. There is delight when answers slip perfectly into the puzzles we‘ve been working on, but the questions, too, bring a joy. Unanswerables - for now at least. I will look up and be amazed.

Thanks to the wikipedia authors :-)

click for tv shows on string theory

"You hated Vietnam, but you dig Afghanistan"

There's a lot on the news about Afghanistan at the moment. The Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA), an inspiring social activist and politial agitator group, offer an inside view. (I first heard of them through GY!BE [ha!])

"No doubt the war on terror toppled the misogynist and barbaric regime of Taliban. But it did not remove Islamic fundamentalism, which is the root cause of misery for all Afghan people; it just replaced one fundamentalist regime with another.

Five years have passed since the so-called "democratic" government of Hamid Karzai has been installed but the depth of tragedy and miseries of Afghan people still remain intact. Unlike what is being shown in the media, RAWA and other human rights organizations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch paint a very different picture of Afghanistan.

Just the increasing amount of women who commit suicides by burning themselves can be the best example of a human rights violation in Afghanistan. According to UNICEF, 65% of 50,000 widows in Kabul think that committing suicide is the only option they have.

US bombs, B52s and the presence of thousands US troops is not to meant to bring about liberation or establish democracy in our country. The people of the US should know that their troops only serve the strategic interests of the US government and make things worse in Afghanistan. Liberation should be achieved by the people of a country and they must fight for their own liberation."

From Afghanistan the Bloodiest Field for Slaughtering Human Rights

"You hated Vietnam, but you dig Afghanistan" (Cester, Cester, Wilson, Muncey)

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club @ The Village, Dublin 26/2/7

We drove three hours there and back, both of us almost falling asleep to our road deaths on the way home. (Chatting about alcohol and rock ‘n’ roll saved our lives).

The gig was bloody brilliant. After a support band who looked like a bunch of school kids delighted to share the stage with obvious heroes (and who were very good) BRMC took to getting the crowd going. It was a delight to hear so many new songs - I can’t wait for their new album, Baby 81, which comes out at the end of April - and they started with a number called ‘Berlin’, followed immediately by the foot-stomping ‘Spread Your Love’.

Several of the old favourites came out. The crowd had itchy feet through ‘Ain’t No Easy Way’, and went plain crazy for ‘Whatever Happened…’ As usual Hayes and Been regularly switched guitars and bass, and last night, for a few numbers, the trio shared the stage with a rock kid (drummer Jago’s brother?) who offered up keys, BVs, and occasional guitar skills. Hayes added the harmonica now and again. They make a lot of noise for a three piece; a wall of sound with devastating chord drops, and endless blues’ riffs. The new single, ‘Weapon of Choice’ was already well-loved by the crowd despite only being available as a streaming file at the band’s website. A reworked ‘Sympathetic Noose’ was a treat. The acoustic guitars made a few appearances as well; a quiet highlight had Been on stage alone strumming out ‘Mercy’ (from the Howl Sessions EP) as the first encore.

Not accustomed to letting the son of God have an easy ride, last night Been declared in ‘Gospel Song’ that he would “stand with Jesus ‘til I can’t take another stone” - then he busied himself ripping the place apart with his searing guitar solo. Such a great rock ‘n’ roll band, and they will take on these taboo issues of religion and politics (that the new wave of indie bands dare not approach).

They are the real deal, throwing everything at you, and they gave it all last night to make it a great gig. Finishing off with ‘Heart & Soul’, the whole thing was over in less than an hour and a half.

Mentalcase

Depression is sweeping the nations, if the U.N. is to be believed. A newly recognised type of bi-polar disorder has been added to the DSM-IV (Bi-Polar 2, where the manic episodes aren't so manic...). Crime is frequently pathogenic, leaving victims suffering dibilitating side-affects of PTSD. Schizophrenia, psychosis, anxiety disorders, OCD... Everyone is crazy. Apparently mental illness is the biggest cause of disability in the USA. I wouldn't be surprised if it's similar here.

By the way, I'm as crazy as the rest of you with my bouts of rage, depression and sleepless nights.

Or are we all just victims of a society so individualised, so pathologised, that we can't handle simple pressures of life without giving it a medical explanation? Do the mental health services (let alone the pharmaceutical industry!) fool their way into business by convincing us and themselves of their importance? The 'therapeutic state' as it is known...

Culture differences are there to be seen - some commentators simply could not believe that the local population were mentally stable after the tsunami struck...

"One mental health specialist, reporting live on radio from a Sri Lankan village, expressed his surprise that the children he encountered seemed keener to return to school than talk about their experiences. They were, he told the listeners, 'clearly in denial', and 'only later will they experience the full emotional horror of what has happened to them.' How he knew this was not stated." (from a BMJ book review)

Cultures are different. Our broken legs look the same, but our mental status cannot. Psychiatry is perhaps 90% in the mind, 10% the brain, and so our mental status is massively influenced by our upbringing, our affluence etc. Our ways of coping with trauma and stress are very different - evidence, some argue, that we in the West are dangerously medicalizing our society. We have lost the role of community, common goals, maybe even religion, in getting through the tough times that life always throws our way and in our recovery from traumatic events.

Of course, it should go without saying, that some people are in need of mental health care, and they should get it.

Anti-psychiatry

The Cinema Experience

Don’t download poor quality movies - pay for the bad experience at your local cinema.

Apparently one of the cinema screens at The Odyssey has been revamped. Now each member of the audience can sit back and relax into their own lazy-boy leather seat and order drinks through the waiter service. Hopefully the sound and picture are well presented as well. I mean, when you pay big bucks for that kind of treatment, it better be good.

Surely it should always be at least half decent. Last year I vowed never to return to Enniskillen’s Omniplex until they sorted their shit out. In four consecutive visits I was disappointed one way or another - picture out of focus, sound desperately quiet, hissing/crackling speakers… Call me grumpy, but when I pay five quid to see a film, I want it to be enjoyable. Ideally I would like to be overcome by the film, without a thought for the outside world. But that’s just never the case. And no, I don’t want to miss some of the film to tell the morons to get it together - that’s their job.

At Yorkgate last night I saw ‘Flags of our Fathers’. I won’t comment on the film ‘cause this is rant about the cinema experience. The bloody thing was out of focus. This time, someone even mentioned the problem to a member of staff who was milling about in the theatre. But they still failed to fix it. What does it take? And even if they nailed the picture perfectly, I’m sure the place didn’t have surround sound, the screen was tiny, and, yeah while I’m at it, the seats were a bit cramped. :)

I think I know why it’s all so duff. The cinema going public here don’t care. At the first sign the film was over, the masses of Belfast scrapped and yelped their way to the doors, missing what I thought was a revealing series of photos from some old WW2 archives. And the bloody brooms and rubbish bags came in while we remained, creeping around behind us, basically urging us to leave the theatre. So much for getting lost in the film. This crap wouldn’t go down in America!

HMS Vanguard

I can’t watch the news now without filling with such a variety of angers. Tonight’s topics of discussion – the debate over the renewal of the UK’s nuclear “deterrent”, ‘Trident’; an investigation into dodgy governmental business deals with the Saudis regarding Typhoon fighter jets; a former Russian spy’s death and the resulting “tensions” between our governments…

Not only are all these stories covered with the bloody fingerprints of those in power, but also, tragically, the journalism on telly saddles up beside that power. If any critiques are offered they are tangential (e.g. cost, rather than illegality or immorality – see Trident “debate”), or whispered, or presented by ‘unrespectable’ or ‘controversial’ sources.

You maybe think I’ve lost it.

Please read independent media.

Medialens

(I recommend signing up to their mailing list)

Zmag

who get sourced articles from many publications around the world)

Think about telling your MP to vote against Trident's renewal.

writetothem.com

More info at CND

Chicago May 3rd, 1886

Chips and Dips

Welcome to ZOO TV, y'all

In a review of U2's latest album, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, a fan wrote that it took Bono less than ten seconds to give his critics ammunition and his fans something to defend as he managed to count to '3' in Spanish before getting lost to catorce. It seems to be the way these days- with Bono giving photo-ops to political Neros in his zealous extracurricular political work (often written off as naive - a criticism I don't buy in to, but won't go in to), his cheese-tinged pictorial speeches (watering cans anyone?), and ultimately the latest album being less than riveting - the boys can do nothing right.

It wasn't always like this! Back in the 90s, they were bloody brilliant :-)

"YOU HAVEN'T COME ALL THE WAY OUT HERE TO WATCH TV NOW, HAVE YA?!"

The ZOO TV tour was a spectacle not to be missed. I missed it 'cause, as a twelve year old, my parents didn't trust my ability to find my way around the Dublin metropolis. They were probably right - it turns out I can't find my way out of supermarkets- but it still niggles me. Oh that sensory overload, right from the start. It would have fried my young and developing brain. TV screens to the heavens flashing with madness and wisdom and chaotic moving pictures, my heroes dressed up in silly costumes, then in matching uniforms. Bono flirting with a hot belly dnacer, then playing the televangelist, then the devil-like past-it pop-hero Mister Macphisto. Fabulous.

U2's ZOO TV show from Sydney was re-released recently, this time on DVD for the digital age. About time - my video version has literally worn out through overplaying. It is, in my opinion, the best of their live releases, and it always ranks well in those Top Whatever lists for live shows. It was so extravagant, so outrageous, yet so developed as a work of art. U2 were doing something noone else dared. Apparently it nearly broke the U2 bank, so don't think it's cause they're so enormously rich. It was a risk, costing desperate amounts just to shift the luggage around and get it assembled every night.

REBELLION IS PACKAGED / EVOLUTION IS OVER / ENJOY THE SURFACE / KIDS BLOODY KIDS / EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG

The film is bizarrely shot in 4:3 ratio, presumably because video was so hip back then, but it leaves the film looking dated. Nevertheless, you still get a sense of the madness blaring out of your telly. The stage looks like a cross between some wasted industrial site and the skeletal mainframe of a fallen space station. There's the East German Trabant cars hanging from the rafters as spotlights. Having been reminded that television is the drug of the nation (Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy), the crowd are asked, "What do you want?" in several languages, before the show kicks off with the thundering fire bomb of Zoo Station. It starts as it means to go on. As character The Fly, Bono plays up the rockstar sticking his face in the cameras of the paparazzi who are as much of the show at this point as they are reporting it. (All his characters through the show deserve an expanded discussion, and have received as much from fans and art critics, so I'll resist taking that particular lesson :-) )

"HAVE YOU COME HERE TO PLAY JESUS? I DID"

Having punched their audience in the collective gob with an overload of rock sound and randomly fired images (that can't even be teased apart by freeze-framing your home copy - I've tried), the band have no problem in then lifting the stadium to ecstasy with Edge's sliding Mysterious Ways solo, followed by the beautiful, tragic One. This U2 at their best, I have no doubt.

Until The End Of The World, New Year's Day, Angel Of Harlem, Stay (Faraway, So Close), Numb, Lou Reed even makes an appearance, sharing the vocals in his Satellite Of Love from the large screen above the stage - it's class stuff throughout the first set, and the close in particular is incredibly moving. The band have never held back when playing Bullet The Blue Sky, their rage against America's aggressive foreign policy, and they give it some wellie in Sydney - on screen is a burning cross, and with the pounding undercurrent and screaming guitar, it cuts to the bone. Having spent their rage, the band turn to confession as Bono sings of weakness, addiction, and failing in the re-worked Running To Stand Still. "Hallelujah, hallelujah" he sings, then he is smothered in clouds as his harmonica wails. And the lights turn red. You can sense the crowd's anticipation - with Mullen's high-hat count in, Edge's delay pedal working over time, and the band exchanging time signatures, the first set nears it close with Where the Streets Have No Name. Suddenly the stadium is flooded with light allowing the fans and the band to see all the faces right to the back. It's understandably a live favourite, never failing to lift the soul, and it's followed by Pride (In the Name Of Love) and, "Thank you, good night."

"YOU CRY FOR MAMA... AND DADDY'S RIGHT ALONG"

Of course, it's not over yet. And I, for one, can't help but watch the whole gig in one sitting. After an interlude of Lenin's favourite fanfare, with vocals seemingly sung by a lemon-headed cartoon spaceman, Mister Macphisto appears on-screen from backstage and the band launch into Daddy's Gonna Pay For Your Crashed Car. Lots of America didn't 'get' the album Zooropa (recorded mid-tour after Achtung Baby), but I love it. And Daddy... is the perfect stage song for this devil as he signals the cannons to shoot money (well, ZOO ECUs) into the front rows. The show pauses as Macphisto goes through a list of thank-yous to everyone from Clinton ("too tall to be a despot, but watch him closely") to the people of Sarajevo who should be thankful for getting to be on TV. Then a phonecall for a taxi home, a drunken murmur of Show Me The Way To Go Home before the boys take off again with a magical Lemon, (not in a magical Lemon - that's the next tour). It's the delightful falsetto ode to the singer's reason for living, whether it be a heavenly lady or a fashion conscious God-above.

"Off with the horns, on with the show" he declares as the Zoo TV journey quiets.

"TAKE MY HEART. IT'S BLINDNESS"

And what a flipping journey it has been, but it is the lack of destination in the closing moments that leaves me breathless. Imagine a stadium full of Aussies stunned into silence as the band weave heartache and desperation through With Or Without You and Love Is Blindness. Nothing matches this finale, and nothing could prepare you for it. Did every show on the tour finish with this? Amidst star constellations, it is beautiful, and dark. Honestly, it is aching. I don't know of many bands who could pull off this feat in such a setting, and after two hours the crowd are still left wanting more. The boys play like they have lost everything, and are scratching in the darkness for a candle to light. And when you think no more is possible, the last song on the list is Elvis' classic Can't Help Falling In Love. Yes, it works perfectly - karaoke pop, and foolishness, and rock heroes, and under it all, love and longing.

It's the music, the poetry, the video drama, the ideas, the moments of glory and moments of hurt. It's all there. My old soul is hard pressed to find a better night in than with 90s U2 on the telly.

if fashion had a conscience, would it really look like this?

I don't buy many clothes, tending rather to wear out the items that were handed down to me by big cousins and big brother, or that I have collected for nowt over the last ten years. Now that my crotch and armpits are showing through, it's getting to that time in my life when I have to spend.

Coming soon to a Caswell near you...

paraskevidekatriaphobia

Do you suffer? Stay inside and lock the doors!
No, wait, don't lock the doors...
Oh, I don't know! God you bless you child!

thoughts of a poorly educated hollywood actor

I was accused of being a stumbling block to discourse (because I didn't begin with the assumption that capitalism is 'good'), was advised to give up my 'moderate socialism', and was subtly compared to a 'poorly educated Hollywood actor' all in one person's comment and blog. It bothered me. I had just finished an unlikely book which helped me vent, and I wrote this.

Thoughts of a poorly educated Hollywood actor
or
The surest way to corrupt a youth...
or
Every theory is autobiographical
or
We are all wrong

"The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently."
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Dawn, Sec. 297

When has someone read enough information to become an authority on a particular subject? Daily newspapers? Paperback books? Academic literature? Maybe they have to have written a few articles of their own before we can put our trust in them.

Hmmm, I'm not so sure. Of course, I'd be slow to accept the wisdom of any old passionate soap-box preacher who was told something by someone, someday he can't remember, but I would also hesitate to place my full confidence in any confident soul.

I suspect that we are all wrong. Yes, all of us. Just for a start, I suspect that every theory is autobiographical. All of us in our discussions- lay folks like me, plus academics and intellectuals- inadvertently bring our wishes (perhaps hidden, says Sigmund) and power struggles (says Friedrich) and self-serving ideologies (says Karl) to the table. The best possible scenario is that we are aware of this, and so critique our own thoughts, and analyse everyone elses ideas, in this light.

And then we've all had our teachers, looked up to certain authors or activists, had clever friends who think one way, known asshole acquaintances who thought another. Unbeknownst to us, it all adds up. Tragically, we get stuck in the mindset we've invested in, and then find evidence to support our ideas (Sigmund again- subconsciously, we are saving ourselves from the shame of being wrong). It is impossible to be autonomous. We must be careful of getting cocky, because we are wrong.

We are all wrong because we can't step out of our own lives to give a truly objective decision. This matters because we might end up embarrassing ourselves by yelling from the rooftops something with a bit of forethought and introspection we would not let pass our lips. (The embarrassment will, of course, only come when we later realise we are wrong - you maybe know some fundamentalists who are fully unaware of how embarrassing they are.) Much more importantly, this matters because in our ranting we may propagate some theory that harms others without us being aware that we support it for self-beneficial reasons.

Being wrong. This should be a humbling thought. I'm passionate about some things, even get childishly worked up about them, but it's nice to remember that I'm wrong. The more I read, the more I know I don't know it all. But this goes beyond that cliché to acknowledge we are always failing to have a sturdy foundation for our ideas: I am wrong. You are wrong. We are wrong. At the occasional best, this acknowledgement helps me to take the ideas of others more seriously. People I disagree with, even apparently fundamentally, have something genuine and truthful to bring to discussion. Even the soap-box preachers. But, (yes, spot the irony) I get really pissed off when I come across someone so sure of their position they speak with a tone of condescension, or even arrogance. Don't they know they're wrong? We're all wrong! Can't you see we all have holes in our theories and in our arguments? How much have you read to be so self-assured?!

I'll buy a punch bag.

bus

I get the bus to work most days. I wait at the stop just opposite my street. So anyway, a couple of evenings ago I was sitting there, at the stop. Waiting with me was this shifty looking guy. Just shifty enough, off-normal enough, for me to think I wouldn't like him if I met him. He was dressed in a suit, an Asian guy, and sort of squinted his way along the ground, never stood still or sat down. I don't know- it wasn't much, not a big deal or anything, but I just didn't like the look of him. We waited about ten minutes for the bus, at which point he perked up and made a rush out of nothing, creep-jumping his way in front of me to get on first. I knew it! He is a shifty character. I felt vindicated in my first impression analysis of him. I didn't like him.

Then the strange thing happened. Shifty got off the bus just two stops down the Lisburn Road. Why would you wait ten minutes for a bus to bring you 200 metres down the street? It wasn't dark, it wasn't raining... But as he got off, another man got on. A guy with dark skin, a scraggly beard, and a back pack. I know, I agree, the ensuing thoughts are embarrassing to say the least. They were embarrassing at the time. I hated my reactionary assessment even as I sat there on the bus. Was he in some way connected to Shifty? Had I witnessed some coded exchange? This guy could totally be a suicide bomber. And I told my mind to shut up, to get a grip.

Honestly, my head was frantic. Switching between fear and fairness. Trying to solidify a rational and more typical response. It was bizzarrely uncomfortable. I'll confess to having had similar pop-up thoughts before, these Pavlovian responses - like when people have knelt in prayer facing Mecca on flights I've been on. These thoughts are very easily discarded, but I reckon largely inescapable thanks to media hype. This was different, and it was the strange circumstance with Shifty that sparked it off. This time I actually felt it. Heat, pulse. I was embarrassed to feel it. I was offended at the possibility of judging people like this, that my core being would react like this. But I realised you don't get to convince your irrational fears to leave your head. I concluded to sit, ashamed of my fear, and blow up if necessary, rather than be one of those who gets off public transport every time a Muslim gets on.

But my Bomber got off the bus first, with his backpack I noted, before we reached the City Hall - the place my fear assumed he would detonate. (How embarrassing to write all this).

So, I got safely unexploded to work. I say 'work', but this night we were off to the Waterfront Hall to watch Marcelo Bratke, a Brazilian classical pianist, perform with two percussionists from the favelas of Sau Paulo. Bratke came on first. A large screen above the stage hosted projected images of his left and right hands playing different rhythms in a gorgeous melancholic piece by Heitor Villa-Lobos. It was staggering. He stood for the applause after this, the first recital, and then beckoned for his companions to come on stage. And on came, yeah seriously, my Bomber.

attention please

The Pedestrianist is walking. Goodness knows what I'm going to fill this space with - personal musical discoveries, thoughts of the heavenly, random political grumblings, a touch of creativity if I brave it. And goodness knows when I'll get around to posting these sorts of things. Goodness knows a lot of stuff. She knows I'll at least try and make every post readable. (Here you can say, 'thank goodness for that').