ROCKS FROM MARS!

Got some more awesome science to share with all you lovely people today, and the fact that it happens to be Friday is a completely and total coincidence, and should not be in any way, shape, or form construed as a resumption of the Friday Science Roundup.

Because homey don’t play that “regular feature” commitment bullshit no more. That becomes, like, work after a while, and as we all know, we writers are a shiftless and lazy bunch, disinclined to toil to the point of an almost childlike lassitude.

We try to compensate for that with our enormous vocabularies, however.

Starting off, let’s talk about ancient Peruvian burial grounds.

Archaeologists have found one, and yup, they are poking around in it, as they are wont to do. And I am glad, of course, because this one is a biggie and they are going to learn so much from it.

But the sci fi slash horror part of my mind can’t help but think about how many bad, bad things I have seen happen in horror movies and X-files episodes that all started with curious archaeologists finding some kind of ancient burial ground and saying “Neato, let’s defile the fuck out of it!”

The truth, in this case, seems to be even more horrible, however. The burial ground contains the remains of 73 children and llamas, and not a single adult. And all the remains are located in a single sedimentary layer, which strongly suggests that this is no family graveyard or hallowed resting place for the bones of the ancestors… but the site of a massive human (and llama) sacrifice, possibly made in an attempt to control the weather.

Of all the things about more primitive cultures that we, as modern human beings raised in a culture where human life is the most precious thing of all, cannot understand or accept, it is the practice of human sacrifice. It is nearly impossible to put ourselves in the mindset of an advanced stone age culture, where advances in agriculture have created a massive urban population surplus, with all the problems of unrest, disease, and disorder that causes.

In such a climate, where people are dying from what, to you, are mysterious causes all the time, the idea that the gods are hungry and a deliberate sacrifice might appease them. On the other end of the motivational spectrum, everyone is miserable and, at least subconsciously, everybody knows that the cause is that there are too many damned people. The idea that the solution involves reducing that overpopulation might have a certain very dark appeal.

But even if we can accept that…. killing children? That just plain cannot be accepted by any modern human being. We presume children to be innocent of all things, and value them above all other things. The idea of someone deliberately killing any child just on the chance it will appease some invisible, imaginary deity seems the height of barbarism to us.

It is this sort of thing which makes history so very difficult to truly understand. Even the most sophisticated historian, well versed in cultural relativism, might well find themselves blinded by their own moral instincts when trying to analyze something so abhorrent.

Damn, that is depressing. We need a refresher from all that petty inhumanity and Stone Age squalor. Here, have an awesome video of a lightning storm over Africa, as seen from the International Space Station, with the Milky Way as backdrop.

The little flashes are the lightning, of course, and the sort of glowing mist you see flowing like clouds in the background is, in face, the entire Milky Way galaxy.

There, that’s better. Cleanses the palate with a little cosmic perspective so that we are ready for the star story of today’s article : ROCKS FROM MARS!

Yes, unbelievably, some meteorites that hit Morocco last year turn out to be ROCKS FROM MARS. We have actual Mars rocks to study without even having to figure out how the hell to make a vehicle that can get to Mars and back with a payload!

Now, first question : how the heck did rocks from Mars get to Earth in the first place? It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? But the answer you came up with is the one the scientists came up with, too : something hit Mars very, very, very hard, so hard that bits of Mars were thrown into space.

That means the impact was so fierce, so utterly massive, that it threw these particular igneous rocks (because Mars doesn’t do sedimentary) all the way out of Mars’ gravity well. Imagine that. WHAM! Space.

But to me, the coolest part of the discovery that bits of other planets can end up on Earth is that it adds weight to a favorite bit of high theory of the exobiological world, panspermia.

Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with satyr jizz.

Instead, it is the theory that the ingredients of life might arrive on a planet from an outside source, for example, a meteorite that gets ejected from a life-bearing planet somehow, and hence bootstrap the processes of life on the planet upon which said meteorite falls.

Obviously, no kind of complex life is going to survive whatever kind of event is cataclysmic enough to eject life bearing rocks into space. But simple life forms are remarkably hearty, and can survive some fairly harsh conditions by going dormant.

Hence the high degree of interest in space circles in extremophile organisms.

So it’s not hard to imagine that some meteorite of planetary origin might arrive on another planet with a payload of hungry micro-organisms who will awaken to a world full of their choicest nutrients, and absolutely no competition.

And just like that, the cycle of life begins anew on another planet.

Heck, for all we know, that might be the very thing that happened here. Admittedly, currently theories of the origin of life on Earth do not require an outside stimulus. But they don’t preclude one, either.

And that would be that really, we are all aliens.

And that’s something I have suspected about myself for a long, long time.

Another Thursday night…

… another diary entry. Yawn.

I look at the stuff I wrote earlier this year, and the stuff I wrote for the Million Word Year (more on that later in this entry), and it just seems so much more vital and interesting than the diary entries I am mostly writing these days that it makes me sad.

Then again, back then, I had a head full of unexpressed ideas to sort out, whereas now, I am in more of an introspective phase. At this point in my life, I am no longer content merely limping along with a broken brain and a wounded soul, not really getting anywhere and just blathering on like I always do.

I want to change. I want to open up inside, spread my wings, and learn to fly. I have a lot of magic inside me waiting to get out, and I have gone as far as I can go with doing that in this lifeline. I need to grow before I can go to the next level and be able to reach out more into the world instead of living at the bottom of a deep, dark hole of hyper-security need.

I am tired of the safety that comes from taking absolutely no risks. I want the security that comes from knowing you can handle whatever life dishes out.

Right now, I live as through I can’t handle absolutely anything. And maybe I can’t, maybe I am genuinely incapable of coping because of all the pain and anger and stress and self-loathing I have built up inside me, and I will only live differently when I find a way to release all that and make room for the good things in life to shine into me.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting strength like a vampire wants blood.

And possibly for the same reasons.

Speaking of dishing out, did my first experiment with my slow cooker yesterday. I grew tired of looking for a recipe that happened to fit the ingredients I have on hand without asking for stuff I do not have. And I talked to a friend online who said “You don’t need a recipe for a slow cooker! Just throw in food and liquid, turn it on, and it will become soup!”

Bolstered by this endorsement of improvisational cooking, I decided to do just that. I just grabbing a bunch of potatoes, an onion, and some baby carrots, and chopping them all up (my knife fu is so weak!) and just throwing them in the crock, then adding enough water to fill the crock most of the way, and then setting it on HIGH and leaving it alone for a while.

And for a first effort, and a completely improvised one at that, it turned out OK. I definitely cut WAY too make potatoes, so what I ended up with was not so much potato soup as stewed vegetables in a vegetable broth. And leaving the skins on the potatoes was a bad idea. It works fine in many situations, but in a crock pot stew, it only adds unpleasant roughage. Lesson learned.

But the big problem with what I concocted is flavour. It just doesn’t have much. This is partly, I think, because I didn’t include any spices in the process. For some reason, nothing I had on hand seemed to “go” with the mix. So I didn’t put anything in. I won’t make that mistake again.

The majority of the issue, though, is that I started with just plain old water, and I really should have started with some kind of soup stock. I was aiming for vegetarian friendly results, as my roomie Julian is a vegetarian, but still, there must be vegetable soup stocks out there that I could have used.

So some time in the future, I will pick up some cheap powdered or canned soup stocks. Those will let me make tasty rice pilaf as well!

Cooking is fun. It’s science that makes food!

What else… oh right, the Million Word Year stuff. I had been looking around for a way to turn the XML backup file of the Million Words into something readable by humans when I came across this simply amazing site called BlogBooker.

Not only does it turn said backup file into something humans can read, it actually turns it into a lovely professional looking PDF file with a Table of Contents, numbered pages, nice formatting, and even all the images in their proper places.

When I read that, my mind flipped. Twice. I could not believe this was a real thing, let alone that it was absolutely free. It was far more than what I was looking for, and I almost had to pinch myself to convince myself that it was real.

Obviously, I had to try this shit out pronto. So I picked a few options and sent the backful to it, and whaddya know, after it processed it, there was a nice PDF file of every one of my Million words.

But there’s one problem : the images did not come through. Instead, they have all been replaced by a “STOP SOPA” image from some place called kz.am

And at first, I thought that this was just part of yesterday’s anti-SOPA blackout… so I tried it again today. But nope, same thing.

So I sent a polite inquiry to the website asking what I was doing wrong, and of course, the instant I sent the email, I realized what it was.

All the URLs for the images would have had “millionwordyear.com” in them, and I let that domain expire, figuring I had no more use for it.

Well, joke’s on me, ’cause it turns out I did have one more use for it. D’oh!

So now, if I want my lovely PDF with the images in it, I have to either edit the PDF manually and change all the URLS to the proper ones, or just cave in and renew millionwordyear.com and hope that magically makes the whole thing work.

Or, just cut out all the image-centric entries. But then it won’t be a full archive, and I will have to cut out all the funny things I said in response to said images.

I would still have all the important stuff, like the fiction, the articles, the essays, and so on.

But I want the whole thing, images and YouTube links and all.

So I will probably renew the domain. Damn it.

So close, and yet….

Unnecessary Thoughts : The fall of SOPA/PIPA

Don’t let the crazy title fool you. I am only calling this “Unncessary Thoughts” because I am going to blog about the rise and fall of the evil SOPA/PIPA bills in the USA, and I am fairly unlikely to say anything that a million other bloggers will not also say on this historic day.

In other words, I am doing that compulsively self-effacing thing.

Public auto-flagellation aside, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that today, Wednesday the 18th of January, 2012, will be a day that goes down in history as a pivotal day in the growing populist strength of the Internet, and the rise of the global citizen.

Because today is the day that the Internet rose as one, and said “NO. “

It said no to the virtually identical piece of evil legislation known as SOPA (the Stop Online Piracy Act) and PIPA (the Protect Intellectual Property Act).

Both of them would have granted the United States government broad, wide-reaching powers to block or take down any website that their corporate masters deem to be supporting online piracy or intellectual property theft.

And this was not just a problem for the USA. Either of those bills would have applied to many Canadian websites too, because the legislation treated all addresses registered with ANIC, the American web registrar, as the same, and that means all .com addresses would be considered to be American for the purposes of the law.

Websites like, say, this one for example.

Clearly, this legislation was a complete corporate fantasy concocted by the same sort of minds who think that if you fast-forward through the commercials, you are stealing television. The kind of people who wish your DVDs only worked once and then you had to pay another fee.

The kind of people who, if you let them, would erase every mp3 in your collection.

Hell, they would erase songs from your memory if they could.

But the Internet community was having none of that. Momentum has been building against these evil twins of legislation born straight out of corporate Hell (the politicians have all admitted that they didn’t even read the bill before saying they supported it, which kind of makes you wonder who wrote it for them, doesn’t it? Or does it?) for at least a month, and today it came to a glorious head when dozens of websites “went dark”, installing scripts that let you see their content for just a split second before the screen blacked out and a message told you why they went dark, and why you should support them.

And as protests go, it will go down in history as one of the most profound of this era. Nothing says “pay attention to this” like depriving millions of people of their Reddit, Wikipedia, and Wired. Even the apolitical and apathetic had to take notice.

And what makes this a great day in history, and not just an historic one, is that it’s working.

Support for the evil twins is folding. Legislators who, before today, were on record as supporting these two corporate nightmares are withdrawing their support, and they are doing it in droves.

Finally, there has come a moment when a major country’s legislators are hearing the voices of the people they purport to represent over the voices of the corporations who pay their rent.

Finally, the politicians are reminded that this is still a democratic world, and that if pushed far enough, their constituents will push back, and push hard.

This is what the Internet looks like when it is angry.

And this is the result.

And it is truly a beautiful thing.

It restores just a small but vital bit of my faith that democracy can work, the people do still have a voice, and evil can be stopped if the people band together as one to fight it.

When last year’s Occupy Movement began to abate, I asked myself “What’s next?”

All the anger and outrage does not simply go away just because the forces that be stomped out the first embers of the growing fire.

It simply goes underground, growing in strength and conviction, and nobody can predict where it will spring up again.

In the heavily saturated liquid that is the Internet, no science can predict exactly which memetic fragment will form the nucleus of the next vast crystallization.

Occupy came out of seemingly nowhere. Just someone with a good idea that, due to the speed and efficiency of the Internet, caught on so fast and spread so far that it dominated the news cycle for months in a row.

That’s a huge achievement in this short attention span, twenty-four hour news cycle world.

And now, we have this, the noblest and most inspiring Black Day in all of history.

Because today is the day that by going black, the Internet shed a great deal of light about the power of the people versus the power of the people in charge.

It took a hell of a lot of us shouting as one united voice in order to be heard over the influence of money, lobbyists, lifestyle, and the Capital City effect. But it can still be done.

I sincerely hope that all the corporate sharks who were so sure they could slip this money grubbing, rights abusing, corporatist legislation into the law books without anyone noticing (after all, they have done it before) are now scrambling like mad, trying to figure out how they lost this one while their billionaire bosses demand heads on plates for their failure to subvert democracy as ordered.

Hopefully, these sharks will find the people harder and harder to fool as citizen rage increases and the means to express that rage remain in the hands of people and proves impossible for the powers that be to control at all.

The Internet might not always be pretty, but it’s the last best hope for democracy in the world.

And today, it raised its mighty voice, and said “NO.”

If it’s Tuesday…

… then this must be the post-therapy diary entry! Yaaaay! *Kermit flail*

Yes, here I am again, mulling over what all went down today in my therapy session, and thus either continuing the process in my blog in a healthy and mature way that will lead to greater emotional growth and inner strength, or wallowing in a big neurotic pit of pointless self-obsessed self-centered self-analysis like a hog rooting around in his own dung.

Either way, you are all here to watch, and you have no idea how that gratifies me.

Come to think of it, that is probably for the best.

Anyhow, it was a fruitful session. I started off talking about my concerns about my own oral retentive nature, and I how I think the sexual abuse I suffered as a very young child (approximately three years old) at the hands of my father caused me to fail to make it into the classic Freudian anal stage, and instead I got arrested in the oral stage.

Genital stage? Sorry, not gonna happen. Not in my lifetime.

He seemed a little taken aback and uncomfortable with my use of the admittedly antique Freudian terminology and point of view. He basically said “Um, that’s analysis, and I don’t do analysis, I do psychotherapy”, although he said it in a lot more words than that.

(I am eventually going to have to confront him about his tendency to drone on and on, saying basically the same thing over and over again in different words. I don’t know if it’s because it’s early in the morning and he just isn’t fully awake yet, or he’s just not that articulate, but it is becoming increasingly frustrating to me and so sooner or later, I am going to have to ask him to be more succinct. I am finding it hard to get a word in edgewise, and that is not something that should ever happen in therapy. At least, not in mine. )

Admittedly, while I knew, as a psychiatrist, he had certainly learned Freud quite thoroughly, I imagine that not a lot of his patients spontaneously cite him when trying to describe their own problems. Just another of my little oddities, I suppose. I must not be the easiest patient to have around. I mean, I’m highly cooperative and try my best to make sure my big brain full of bits and pieces of psychological lore doesn’t get in the way, but fron the therapist’s point of view, I am probably more than a little hard to predict.

What can I say, my brain train runs on its own set of tracks.

My therapist did make one very interesting observation : he treats a lot of depressives, and they tend to come in two kinds : very angry and very skinny guys who don’t hold anything back, and big fat quiet guys who hold far too much back, and (this is the juicy bit) all of whom tend to be highly articulate and intellectually agile.

So apparently, I am one of a type : big fat passive chatty intellectuals. Big brains, big bodies, but not nearly enough will to make the whole thing work.

Perhaps one of us should form a support group for us depressed fatties. Not me, of course, it would be too much work and too much of a commitment. But if someone else did it, I guess I would join. Probably. Maybe.

But the big take-away from the day’s session was a lot of talk about my relationship with my father, and how I need to confront him about the abuse and all the other issues I have with him being, basically, a very bad father to me for my entire life, and I hate him around as much as I am capable of hating anyone.

After all, we’re all getting older, and it’s best to do this before the “shouting at a tombstone” stage.

I have had the idea of writing to my father in the back of my mind for a long long time, as a way of working out my own personal demons (a lot of whom look like him), but when I try to imagine doing it, I get so angry that my articulacy just dissolves in a white hote flood of total rage and I can’t imagine how I could put it into words without ending up just eating my forehead against the monitor and grunting.

“You… bad…. my life…. incompetent… stupid… asshole… argh!”

And then I would have a stroke and end up drooling on the keyboard.

But action is necessary. My therapist is right about that. And while we discussed the idea of my actually getting on a Greyhound to confront him in person, I cant’ really afford that, and honestly, I would be too afraid I would kill the asshole. It would only take one wrong word for me to snap.

I am not saying I want to kill him. I don’t even want him to die, unless I’m in the will and he’s a lot richer than I know about. I am just saying that I have so much anger towards him that I am deeply afraid of what would happen if it all came out at once.

I might not be able to control it.

Anyhow, that’s not gonna happen. But the letter thing… that is doable. I can pour out my anger into a letter and send it to him. I am good with words, it is something I can work on when I am able and then put aside if it all gets to be too much, and most importantly, while it will be a “poison pen letter”, I will not, in fact, be able to actually kill him with it.

When I am done writing it, I will likely post it here. That way, even if he never reads my letter, even if he rips it up and throws it into the garbage when he sees who it is from and guesses that it might not contain happy warm fuzzy content, the truth about him will be out there, on the Internet, for the world to see.

I hope he chokes on it.

Tonight, on Video Meh!

Feeling pretty meh right now, kinda bored and dissatisfied and a little pent up, so I figured I would update you nice people about my life, but throw in some fun video links to spice things up a little.

Because you know, that way I have less to actually write. Aren’t I clever?

Surprising to absolutely nobody, I didn’t end up going to the Richmond Writer’s Society thing on Saturday night. While writing about it did make me feel a whole lot better, I still could not quite gather up the gumption to go do it. So instead, I sat at home like a lump on a log doing the same ol’ same ol’ shit.

And that was fine. I had more or less made peace with that. But then I find out from Felicity, who did go, that one of the attendees was a gorgeous gay writing professor in his forties.

And boy, does that sound like my exact type. So now I am kicking myself for not going and missing out on what could have been quite a cherry fine romantic opportunity, or at least an opportunity to moon over a guy who really turns me on and creep him out a little.

Well, hopefully, there will be another such meeting soon, and I will get to meet this enchanting fellow, and maybe get him interested in me as a writer.

Truly, it sounds perfect.

Oh right, video! Here’s something to make you go “awww!” in both ways.

That would be Bizkit, the sleepwalking dog. Evidently, this poor doggie was either having an especially vivid doggie dream, or he has the same slight brain malfunction that makes human beings sleepwalkers as well.

You see, in all animal life, there is a little switch in our brains which cuts out or dampens our motor responses while we sleep. That is why, for most of us, we stay more or less right where we are when we sleep, only maybe turning over now and then, or wiggling a little bit.

But for some people, and evidently some critters too, that switch doesn’t quite get the job done. Opinion is divided as to whether the problem is that the switch itself is broken, or if it’s normal but the impulses it is supposed to suppress are simply too strong for it.

Either way, you have to admit, watching a sleeping dog run into the wall (without doing itself harm, I think) is pretty darn funny. Sad, but funny.

Still struggling with finding a way to make peace with my life so I can just get on with it. The ideal situation would be one where I have completely eliminated self-recrimination except for that slender, vital, tiny fraction of the whole that is necessary for ethical wholeness and healthy self-awareness.

Despite what mental illness tries to tell me, it is not a choice between constant self-excoriation and complete and total obliviousness. Thought if those were the only options, I think I would choose the obliviousness for a while, just to see if that makes me happier. What the hell, can’t make it much worse.

But no, there are many numbers between 0 and 1, and hence, many choices between two extremes. It is not a light bulb world, where it is either on or off.

Smart people know the world has built in dimmer switches!

Here’s another fun video : the Bad Lip Read people have fun trying to make Rick Perry sound even stupider.

Did they succeed? You be the judge!

I would call it a draw, myself. Thank goodness that moron isn’t getting the nom.

Then again, if he did, Obama would wipe the floor with that inarticulate boob, so you know… whatever.

I find it hilarious how supposedly none of the base likes Mitt Romney, yet apparently, a lot of them are voting for him in the caucuses. Either that, or the Republican machine is simply really good at corrupting the process and making sure the one they picked a long time ago comes out on top.

Either way, I am seeing a lot of angry Tea Party types after the actual convention, and then, who knows? Maybe Ron Paul will start his own party and they will all go there.

The American Right is long overdue for a split. Maybe this year’s the year.

Or maybe what Americans need to do is embrace a radical new choice, one that has been staring them in the face (politely) for over one hundred years, and yet, they have never given it a single thought.

They should put us in charge.

Is that some kick ass satire, or what? Makes my day to see something like that. That is sharp, intelligent, high density satire, and I salute its creator.

Dammit, why I don’t I do things like that?

And it makes sense, you know. I have been saying for years that Canada is basically America Lite. You know, all the good things, but with way less of the bad. An American can move to Canada and eat all the same foods, watch all the same TV shows and movies, speak the exact same language, and overall have about 80 percent the same culture. Sure, that other 20 percent takes some getting used to, but still.

Canada has always been the quieter and more sensible brother in this North American family. It only makes sense that we be put in charge. Trust me, we are far too dull and polite to do anything but clean the USA up and give it back to you in much better shape than when you gave it to us.

At worst, we might get a little more sarcastic.

Well, I guess that is it for tonight. Still feeling fairly meh, which for all I know has more to do with the rice I had for dinner than any deep existential crisis.

But as usual, writing about it makes me feel better. So once more… thank you all so much for making this whole big thing possible.

My thoughts on Black Swan

(This probably could go without saying, but it won’t : This article is all about my thoughts about the movie Black Swan. If you haven’t seen it, this it not going to be of much interest to you. Sorry about that. Watch it if you get the chance, even if you don’t give a damn about ballet. I don’t. )

Finally got around to seeing last year’s critical darling Black Swan yesterday, and so I thought I would capture some of my thoughts about it on my handy little blog here and save them for all posterity.

It’s the least I can do. You know, for the future.

First off, I should note that I did not go into this viewing aflutter with anticipation or giddy with joy. Sure, I had sampled the amazing rush of great press for the movie, so I know it was both a box office success and a critic’s best friend, but that is no guarantee of a movie’s suitability for my own particular (and sometimes downright peculiar) tastes. I have disliked critical darlings before, and of course, being a science fiction fan, a lot of my favorites have been pooh-pooh by the literary and cinemiste elitists who have the strange idea in their heads that science fiction is all zippy pow ray guns and heavily mammalian aliens babes.

Personally, I think it’s because the word “science” is in there, and people who like science like science fiction. Hence, the arts majors who make up film and literary instinctively fear and hate it, figuring that if they go anywhere near science fiction, someone might ask them to do long division.

And of course, despite being no more alpha specimens than we are, the literary and film snobs are still as determined as everyone else to look down on us nerds. And if nerds like science fiction, then liking science fiction makes you a nerd. And there’s nothing worse than that. Right? Right.

But meanwhile, back at my point… I was not highly anticipating this movie. I have no interest in ballet, and the whole thing seemed, from afar, like a rather self-congratulatory and pretentious exercise in artistic excess. The premise certainly does not appeal to me.

But the psychology of it does, and that is what drew me into the movie and why I now consider myself quite a fan of the flick. If you have been avoiding this movie because, like myself, you don’t care about ballet, rest assured that this is a great movie regardless of the subject matter or milieu.

It was poor Nina’s descent into madness which sucked me deep into the depths of this film, and Natalie Portman deserves a lot of the credit, because this was an incredibly complex role for any actress and she played it with exquisite detail. You could really see her transition from the prim, quiet, submissive Nina who was completely her mother’s appendage, there to fulfill the dreams her mother had to give up to take care of baby Nina, to the out of control, out of her depth, and clearly out of her mind Nina at the end of the film.

I feel for girls like Nina, the quiet overachievers who are docile and placid on the surface, but just below the surface are a roiling, seething mass of anxiety, depression, suppression, and lack of self-expression.

It really touched my heart when she said “I just want to be perfect.” That is exactly the trap that such overachievers face, ever striving to be The Perfect Child when that is simply not possible. No matter how hard to try, you are still human. You will never be perfect. You have to make peace with that, or it will eat you up inside, and sooner or later, you are going to crash, and crash hard.

And that is what I think happens over the course of the movie. I am sure there are many other theories as to “what is really going on” in a movie like Black Swan, but to me, the movie is clearly about what happens when one of these pent-up timebombs who seem so “perfect” on the outside finally reach the limits of their sanity and break down.

In her case, she went so long staying under her mother’s oppressive wing, living in the incredibly competitive world of ballet that demands so much sacrifice and self-control from girls from a very young age, with absolutely no outlet for her tensions and stresses, that when she broke, it was with such monumental force that it shattered her mind all the way into psychosis.

So in many ways, the Black Swan of the title is her long-suppressed id finally fighting free of the smothering influence of her mother/superego.

Her encounter with the self-puncturing Beth, who walked into traffic rather than face the fact that she was not the bright young star any more, was a particularly poignant (and extremely horrifying) illustration of the kind of self-destructive passion that drives these high achievers.

Stabbing herself in the face and screaming that she is nothing… this comes from a person whom the entire ballet world thinks is a goddess. Anyone would think she should be happy. But none of that matters. To her, she is nothing, nothing, nothing.

And it is this very dangerous cocktail of ambition and self-loathing that I think drives Nina over the edge. When she is chosen by Tamal (who bears some of the responsibility for her tragic end, I think), and then Tamal carelessly pokes about in her mind with his half-seducing her and telling her to “live a little” so she can be a better Black Swan for him, that is more than enough to trigger a breakdown. The combination of an extreme increase in pressure to be “perfect” and the stirring up of tightly suppress id-related adult emotions was simply too much for her brittle mind to take.

And so the movie, like the ballet, is ultimately a beautiful tragedy.

I think I like the movie a lot more, though.

Why we have eyebrows

Once more, Photoshop teaches us a valuable and emotionally scarring lesson about life.

In this case, it’s about why we have eyebrows.

Because otherwise, AAAAAAAAH!!

Holy CRAP that’s a shocker. On the left, extremely beautiful women looking fabulous. On the right, brain searingly scary horrible zombie monkey lady.

The difference? Eyebrows.

I already felt bad for people who lose their eyebrows for whatever reason (chemo, alopecia, using too much starter fluid on the BBQ) but holy crapcakes.

I really hope that it is possible to restore someone’s eyebrows via a hair transplant or something. Because I knew people would look bad without them.

I just had no idea you would look “frightening children and making adults come at you with a wooden stake aimed at your heart” kind of bad.

On a knife’s edge of anxiety

I am in the throes of emotional conflict right now, and so I thought I would perhaps use today’s diary entry to talk it out and maybe help me resolve the issue.

The basic issue is this : tonight, there is a meeting of the Richmond Writer’s Society. My friends and I used to go to it a long while ago, but then it sort of disintegrated due to lack of interest. The meetings were drawing fewer and fewer people, and so the organizer, a great fellow named Bill Marles, decided to just call the whole thing off. These things happen with loosely organized groups of hobbyists like a writer’s circle. It is sad, but it is a fundamental part of human social ecology.

I enjoyed the meetings, for the most part. It’s nice to be around other writers, and listen to them read their work, and offer constructive criticism. It was a good group of people, and Bill Marles is a very laid back and mild sort of guy, so things never got all tense or dramatic.

And trust me, with a group of writers reading their work to one another and opening it up to criticism, there is a real possibility for a lot of fragile egos getting bruised and people lashing out at one another and all the chaos and madness that would bring.

So now, apparently Bill Marles is having a meeting tonight, ostensibly just to socialize, but presumably also to talk over the possibility of starting the whole thing up again.

And by all logic, I should be eager to go to it. I enjoyed the group before. I am far far more of a writer than I was back when the group was going the first time. I have far more writing to talk about, including a whole freaking book. I am edging closer and closer to actually getting my shit together and treating writing like it’s my job and not just something I do in order to stave off insanity for another day. I certainly could use the networking with other writers, be known to them, share some time with the company of like minded people all trying to do the same thing I am, in my half-assed sideways way, trying to do.

Heck, it would even be a great place to go brag about how thoroughly I kicked NaNoWriMo’s ass. I could really use the ego boost, and this would be a group of people who truly appreciated what it took to belt out 50,000 words in 25 days. Good ones, too. Maybe not entirely properly fleshed out, but still a good read.

In short, I have every reason to go. So why the conflict?

Social anxiety, that’s why. Sigh.

My social anxiety has kicked in hard, dug its heels in, and is fighting me like a big dog pulling incredibly hard on its leash in exactly the opposite of where its owner wants it to go.

These are the worst moments in mental illness, in my books. When you are face to face with an immutable conflict between what both your will and your logic know is something you really want to do, but the illness simply will not let you do it, no matter what.

That is when you truly know that depression is a prison and you are simply not a free man. You are a prisoner, trapped in a dank dark depressing prison, and the bars are no less strong simply for being invisible and of your own devising. At some point in your life, you made a deal with the Devil, and signed away enormous amounts of your freedom, nearly all of it in fact, in order to build this fortress of a prison. And you did it in pursuit of an ever fleeting and impossible ideal of safety.

And over and over again, the Devil was all too happy to take more of your freedom in order to give you more of this illusion of safety, until your life was a life sentence in a tiny cell with no hope of escape.

Because even if those prison doors were to swing wide open and you were totally free, you know damned well that you would only get as far as the gate before looking out at that big, loud, complicated, stressful world that you are even less able to handle now than you were when you locked yourself away, and you would suddenly remember why you built it all in the first place, and then you would slink back to your cell with your tail between your legs, locking all the doors behind you, and go back to dreaming of escape.

Hmmm. Maybe I should write all that up as a short story.

So honestly, I do not know if I will go. It does not feel very likely right now. I just do not have the coping resources, that deep down mystical and elusive substance knows as ATC (Ability To Cope) to do it right now.

To compound the frustration, my dear friend Felicity emailed me on Thursday to tell me about this thing coming up, with the specific intent of giving me lots of warning before this event so I could have time to wrpa my brain around the idea and warm up to it and be emotionally ready when the time came.

And the email arrived fine. It’s there in my Inbox. But somehow, I just didn’t see it there. I didn’t find out that this thing was happening until late last night, and it’s happening tonight at 7pm.

I just didn’t get the message in time. Story of my life.

So despite having a lot of good reasons to go, I will likely pass. And if I do, the sane and sensible thing to do would be to simply accept that mental illness does this sometimes, and it’s out of my control, and hence I should not beat myself up for being too wimpy and cowardly to go.

We will see how that works out.

Today’s sampler platter

I was going to call today’s entry something involving “potpourri”, but then I thought “Who care about potpourri? It comes in weird little sachets and invariably contains at least one thing that makes me sneeze. It’s supposed to keep your drawers smelling fresh, but I will leave that up to my fabric softener. You know what I like? Sampler platters. I love getting a whole big platter of various tasty fried things and other appies to try. I am going to call today’s entry a sampler. Take that, Evelyn and Crabtree!”

I have a long standing feud with the ladies at E&C. They know what they did.

On today’s platter, in the upper right quadrant, you will find this rather savoury bit of superbly cooked and highly piquant slab of deep fried crispy-skin schadenfreude : A whole half hour documentary about just what a heartless evil job destroying bastard Mitt Romney and his Bain Capital cronies have been in the past.

I know it’s a big helping, but you don’t have to finish it all in one sitting. Watch the first ten minutes or so, and you will get the drift. The rest is more of the same.

I officially hate that son of a bitch now. He does not simply represent the One Percent, he represents the absolute worst of them. Born to privilege, made billions completely destroying lives, businesses, and jobs, and probably doesn’t have the slightest idea why anyone would have a problem with that. After all, everything he did was legal and incredibly profitable, ergo, it was fine. And it’s not like he and his cronies ever had to even look at the people whose families they destroyed. They did it all from some posh Manhattan office.

What makes this documentary a treat, though, is that it will make for very good ammunition for Barack Obama when the right win machine, despite what their base actually wants, goes ahead and makes Mitt their candidate anyhow.

Making the case that Mitt is a horrible person will be quite easy, and while his right wing opponents might feel a little squeamish about attacking him about his Bain (should be spelled Bane) activities because they are actually on record as being for unfettered greed in capitalism, the Democrats will have no such qualms.

But enough of that challenging cuisine with the sophisticated adult taste. In the upper right quadrant of the platter, you will find everyone’s favorite Internet dish : funny cat pictures.

And for just this week, it comes with bonus GBLT content!

This is my GAY CAT STRUT BITCHES!

What is it with me and calling people bitches like that, anyhow? I seem to have a fascination with it. I have this desire to burst in a group of nerds and shout “Roll for initiative, bitches!” and see if anyone lunges for their dice bag.

I have a weird inner life, even by my own standards.

Anyhow, isn’t Pride Cat great? I am trying to figure out just what that pose suggests. I first thought “INVISIBLE DIVING BOARD” but the pose is not quite right for diving. It more suggests something highly dramatic, like opera, or figure skating. “INVISIBLE OPERA HOUSE”? Nah.

Moving to the lower left quadrant of our platter, we find another Internet staple, the tried and true taste of very silly animated GIFs. To wit :

I bet she had to think of a wonderful thing first.

Imagine the fun this gal must have had making this silly little clip. For those of you unfamiliar with camera magic, the way you make something like this is quite simple. You record yourself jumping in the air and making that flapping bird pose in four different locations on your bed, and then you edit together only those frames which have you at the right height and motion, and voila, you have what appears to be a person in her adorable pajamas flapping about her bed like she’s a chicken.

What I particularly enjoy is how the bedsheets seem to be pushed down by the force of her flight. Of course, they are really just pushed down by the force of her kerboinging on her bed, just like your parents always told you not to do. But it really sells the silly effect.

I love that kind of thing.

And now, at long last, our gaze turns to the lower right quadrant of the platter, where you will find this highly exciting and stimulating science news story en croute : turns out, every star has, on average, at least one planet orbiting it.

Is that not kewl? This means there are scads and scads more planets than was previously thought, and of course, the more planets, the more likelihood that one of them has another intelligent life form.

Or heck, just life in general. We are not in a position to be picky. Just finding some alien slime mold would be a million thrills at this point. But what we really want, of course, is another sentience.

Needless to say, Drake’s Equation has never looked so good. There might well be millions of other races out there for us to meet.

If you take a look at Drake’s Equation…..

A truly magnificent work of definitive, scientific guessing. Click to enlarge.

… you will see that what has changed is the Fp variable, the fraction of stars that have planets. When that goes up, so does N, the likelihood of there being intelligent life within radio distance of Earth.

Wow, I almost sound like I know what I am talking about, don’t I? Well, it’s just basic algebra, adding probabilities and so on. Don’t get intimidated by the subscript, it’s just there to identify each variable when there are only so many letters of the alphabet and mathematicians refuse to use two without making the second one hide below the line.

Anyhow, I am super stoked at this development. It is great news for us in the “Go Aliens Go!” group.

Of course, we really have no idea what the rest of the variables represent. What fraction of planets have life on them? What fraction of those will have intelligent life? Who knows? We can only make speculate wildly.

But still, the odds of finding more sentient life forms out there has gone up, and that’s enough for me.

Talk to us soon, Space Brothers! Preferably over the Internet, in our email inboxes.

That would seem friendly enough, right?

Another day’s dreaming

Well, here we go on another trip through the fucked up world of my subconscious, in an attempt to figure out just what the hell is going on in there, or at least, take some pictures on this weird safari so we can show the folks back home just what a long, strange trip it’s been.

Things had been relatively peaceful in the old cerebellum lately, with a slowdown and a lowdown in the usual amount of hyper-dreaming fireworks roasting my noggin, so I suppose I should not have been surprised that I got a double whammy of it today.

But I still was. You can’t really be ready for things like this. It’s not part of the shape of it all.

The first whammy was actually pretty cool, except for the beginning point, because the first thing I remember of the dream is definitely not the first part of the dream. My memory tape definitely begins part way through the festivities, and most maddening of all, the first thing I remember from this dream set is thinking “Wow, that was completely awesome. Oh, hey, what’s this new thing?”

So I really, really wish I remembered what the heck happened before that. I am sure there actually was more before that, and that I have forgotten it. How very annoying. Oh well, moving on.

So the dream starts with me looking down into a small playing field to see a bunch of fresh faced young boys in the style of an early sixties band playing their girl pleasing somewhat Beatles-esque tunes, with the bleachers packed with teens of that era digging on all the crazy sounds, and what looks like a radio DJ and some record studio types nearby, at the other end of the field.

All of that would be cool enough, but the really trippy and wigged out thing is that it all looked like it would look if you were watching it on a black and white TV of the era. It was like the whole universe had been reformatted to that style, so everywhere I looked, things were in black and white, and slightly static-y (because this was long before cable, of course).

In fact, the first thing I remember in the dream is watching this happen, watching the black and white effect flood over my reality from the previous hyper-saturated technicolor. It was almost like a video filter being applaud to my entire universe.

And in the dream, apparently, this was no big deal. My reaction, in fact, was to say to whoever I was with “Oh, I see, they are going for a kind of early sixties television look. I wonder what this is all about. ”

And then I notice that the event we are watching is sponsored, I swear I am not making this up, by Portal 3D. And I say to my companion, “Oh, OK already, we all know Portal 3D is coming out soon, there is no need to get us all excited about it. ”

This suggest that I was basically participating in a reality-level advertisement. Chilling.

So my companion and I decide to take a seat and enjoy the show, and that’s where things get quite tricky and strange. Because somehow in this reality, my companion seems to just sort of acquire a teenager to cuddle up and enjoy the show with more or less just by wanting it.

I can’t be any clearer than that, I am afraid. I really don’t recall that part of the dream well. But I remember looking over and being jealous, and then looking to the other side of me, and thinking “what the heck, it’s worth a try. ”

So I just sort of adopt a posture like I am already cuddling side to side with someone, and in my mind I see the girl seated a little ways off on the same bench as me highlighted, like I was selecting an object in a piece of software, and then I close my arm a little to, I guess, say “OK”, and just like that, there she is, cuddled up to me with her head on my shoulder and my arm around her back. Awww!

So we cuddle, and I stroke her hair, and we watch the band, and we talk, but I do not remember a single word of the conversation. I think it was, in fact, the sensation of conversation without the content. That kind of thing can happen in dreams.

Eventually, my companion and I decide to go, and the first thing I say the moment we leave is “I want one. ”

I seem to have decided, in the dream at that point, that what I had just been cuddling was some new form of hyper sophisticated android, and I wanted one for myself because it had all been so warm and pleasant.

Also, at this point, I am getting into a car with this whoever that I am with, and I think the idea is that we are an X-Files type investigative team, and when I talk about how awesome that android was, this whoever kind of Marge Simpson growls, suggests she(?) is jealous.

And that’s the end of the first whammy. I wake up, I wander out, I watch the Daily Show and Colbert with Joe and Julian, Joe and I have a mild bit of verbal static because he’s feeling tired and ill and grumpy, and then I come back to my room and go back to sleep.

Then the second whammy hits, and it’s far less pleasant.

In it, I have had some kind of massive blowout argument with my mother and my brother. I don’t remember the argument. I am fairly sure the dream began with this big argument having already happened.

So there I am, in this very plain, Spartan motel room, crying my eyes out, super upset and freaking out about this whole big deal argument and trying to calm myself down. I am crying so hard, I can barely see, and just sort of wandering around the four small rooms of my motel room because I am too upset to sit still.

Then, just as I am about to settle down and phone them to get them to come over so I can apologize, they show up, bearing food and inviting me out to dinner.

So I sit them down at the crappy sort of kitchen table in the motel room, and I start to try and apologize, but them my brother makes some kind of sarcastic comment, and I ask him, can you please refrain from doing that for just a little while?

And he says “Oh, I don’t know, that’s going to be pretty hard.. ” and I say “It’s that hard to stop picking on me for five minutes?” and he says something about him having the right, and I lash out at him because what he is doing is really hurting me, and lo and behind, I blow up again and they leave and I am back to square one.

So now I am REALLY upset, and feel incredibly stupid and guilty for freaking out yet again, and I am once more alone in the motel room (really, more of a mini-apartment) which for some reason smells like waxed paper.

I manage to pull myself together long enough to find the phone and try to dial the number to call them up and once more try to apologize, but for some reason, it’s really hard to dial because the dial on the phone seems really far away, and I have to sort of fling my finger in what looks like the right direction and hope it hits the right number.

It’s like trying to dial a phone by throwing darts. Oh well, this is Dreamland, which supports all kinds of completely illogical interfaces.

I mean, they invented that whole never ending hallway where no matter how hard you run, you never actually get to the end. Whose crazy idea was that? Oh right, the collective unconscious.

Man, the zeitgeist doesn’t know shit about interface design. Am I right?

Anyhow, that was the end of whammy 2. I woke up from that one even more fucked up that usual from my hyper-dreams, because it had been emotionally exhausting as well as trippy.

For the record, I have never had any conversation like that with my brother and/or my mother. Nobody behaved like themselves in that dream, least of all me.

Although I feel like I now have a glimpse into what it would be like to be a far, far more emotional person, and one with anger control issues to boot.

It was all pretty upsetting, honestly. I don’t like the idea of being that out of control of myself. I value self-control highly, and being able to respond out of rational and measured choice instead of being at the mercy of whatever emotion is dominating at the moment.

I wonder if I take that too far, though.