Friday Science Ragamuffin, August 10, 2012

Hey there hi there ho there, Arduinos! Here we are on yet another beautiful summer day in August, with the breeze teasing the leaves where the birdies whistle in the trees and gorgeous sunshine everywhere.

I am telling you, the place is downright soggy with the stuff.

Sadly, the construction next door also continues apace, bringing all kinds of power tool noises, along with the occasional loud conversation in, I am guessing… Arabic? I really wish that real life construction jobs had progress bars, so I would have some idea of how close to being done they are.

And that would totally be the case if the houses were being printed instead of built!

Ctrl-P To Print House

Another player had entered the “some day you will print your house” game. Before, we have heard about Enrico Dini’s desire to print moon building out of lunar soil.

Well now Professor Behrokh Khoshnevis wants to print your entire house here on Earth, using a giant 3D printer taller than the final house that would print your house layer by layer, using various materials to add the plumbing and wiring as it went.

It is quite the heady concept, and the most amazing thing is that the whole thing would only take 20 hours. Imagine that, a whole house fabricated from scratch in less than a day.

To me, massive gizmo appeal aside, the most exciting thing about such a technology is that it could make houses much, much cheaper. There is not much you can do about the cost of the land, but that is only a small fraction of the cost of home ownership.

The real money comes from the cost of constructing the darn thing, and that cost in turn is mostly labour. Eliminate most of the labour costs, and we could create a future where the loan on your house is smaller than the one on your car.

And it could be a custom house, with everything exactly where and how you want it, all at no extra cost. They would just sit you down with a house building app with the limits of the printer built into it, and let you put together the house of your dreams.

Radically cheaper houses could have a massive ripple effect on the whole economy. Sure, construction workers would be out of a job… but whatever job they move to next, they will be able to afford a house. And imagine what the middle class would do without the yoke of a mortgage around their necks!

It could be a real game-changer.

Attack of the Drones

Drones, otherwise known as semi-autonomous aerial recon vehicles, otherwise known as the coolest RC plans ever with guns that really shoot and cameras that work and everything, have been making the news ever since drone strikes have started being very, very effective ways to kill people we don’t like.

But that is this morning’s news. The news of now is all about how the defense contractors at a recent drone convention are all talking about expanding these military drone technologies into civilian applications, like law enforcement and environmental monitoring.

Now obviously, this is getting a little creepy. First we start being able to kill someone in Afghanistan from the safety and comfort of some military base in the USA, then we have hordes of drones flying around at home waiting to catch us in a crime? Spooky!

The Panopticon lives!

But remember that the same technology could be used to catch corporations in the act of polluting, shredding documents, or whatever else those scumbags are getting away with right now.

Also, first responders like EMTs and firefighters could send in the drones first to see what they are up against before they even get to the scene, and have all the right materials and tools ready to go when they arrive and seconds could mean lives.

So, creepy or no, there could be a lot of benefits from a drone filled future.

Their Own Little World

And as usual, our last slot is reserved for whatever story has me the most excited right now, and in this case, it is a rather sad one.

Recently, in Kazan, a city in Russia, a tiny Islamist cult was discovered in an underground bunker where the group had been living for nearly a decade.

Around 70 people had been living in this bunker without running water or central heat, 20 of whom were children, some of whom had never seen sunlight or the outside world until the authorities discovered them and removed them for health checks on August 1 of this year.

One seventeen year old girl was found to be pregnant.

Now this is clearly a tragedy. I want to acknowledge that before I go off the deep end about the science and end up sounding like a psycho.

But I am dying to know more about these kids and this microcosm in which they have grown up.

I should point out, this is no spider hole. The bunker might have lacked modern amenities, but it was eight stories underground. Imagine an eight story apartment or office building, and you can see that their world was not as small as you might think.

Still, I really want to know about these kids. Has the lack of sunlight damaged them physically? Has growing up in a relative small environment caused parts of their brain to atrophy? What exactly did they know about the outside world before the authorities came for them?

The patriarchal leader(s) of this sect would have total information control within the bunker, so they could have told the people inside who were kept inside all the time anything they wanted about the horrible, evil, sinful outside world.

And they would have a very strong incentive to feed them a narrative that supports their isolation. So who knows? Maybe they told everybody that the infidels had destroyed the world, and if they left the bunker, the radiation would kill them.

So many questions! The scientist in me is dying to know.

The humanitarian in me is just glad those kids will get a chance at a normal life now.

Thursday Linkshare Apalooza, August 9, 2012

I have a browser stuffed with stuff to share, and I do not really feel like squeezing more blood from my heart onto the page tonight, so let’s just get right down to it.

Here is a bit of modern comedy about the joys of text(ing).

Love the style on this piece. Sure, the art is beyond primitive, but it gets the job done, and the animation keeps up with the monologue perfectly, and I love that. I love things where the content is happening on more than one sensory level at a time. Like music videos which are about the song being sung, or animations based on speech like this one.

I love that kind of thing!

As for the text talk, while I have no cell phone myself, I talk via text online all the freaking time, and so his points more or less apply to me too. I have had all those things happen to me, and they piss me off solid. DO NOT IGNORE ME!

Next up, you have heard it before. You have seen it before. You may even have typed it before, especially if you are old enough to have needed to test a typewriter.

But odds are, you never knew it had actually happened… until now.

And here is the video proof!

Yes, the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Well, technically, he jumped onto the lazy dog then kind of fell off of him on the other side. But let’s not pick nits.

I wonder how long it took to get the obviously tame fox to do it. He obviously did not quite have the thrust, and it looks to be a youngish fox (though it is hard to tell with foxes) but I can easily imagine the person thinking “Wait… I have a brown fox who is very excitable and bouncy… and a dog who, if not exactly lazy, has a calm and placid temperament… quick, get the camera!”

And then it was just a matter of running the little foxy around to get him all excited and revved up, then getting him jumping over things and rewarding him, then getting him to try to jump the big dog.

Probably took a whole afternoon, but it was worth it, don’t you think? An idiomatic phrase, a sentence really, captured in real life, on film.

Now that we are warmed up with comedy, time to inject a little sadness, I am afraid. The following is a real letter an actual father gave to his son after his son came out of the closet.

This is what hate sounds like.

Click to enlarge to a more readable size.

I have heard of this sort of thing happening, as incomprehensible as it is. People disowning their children after learning their children were LGBT. As if it was a choice. As if their children were doing this just to hurt them. As if…

As if having an LGBT child was worse than having no child at all.

But it is quite another thing to actually read it, right there in the parent’s own handwriting, in their own words. I cannot imagine being so cold as to write something like that. When I read it, I get this profound sense of dead dread coldness from it. It is all so cruel and detached.

Not so long ago, it would have been dating outside one’s race that provoked such cold hate.

Hopefully, this hate too shall pass.

In fact, maybe it already has. Check out this heartwarming article, in which a father writes a letter to the future gay son he may one day have.

My favorite part :

I am still, as always, your biggest defender. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re any less capable of taking care of/defending yourself. That said, if you need me to stand next to you, in front of you, write letters, sign petitions, advocate, or anything else, I am here. I will go to war for you.

Emphasis from original article, but wholeheartedly endorsed by yours truly. I can really identify with that kind of strong protective urge. I am a mellow person on the surface, but if you threaten me and mine, I will fucking end you. Period.

I strongly suggest you read both letters. The second is the antidote to the first.

On to more fun stuff, as in, this truly epic tale of criminal stupidity from Charlottetown, my old stomping grounds, where I went to University.

I will attempt to summarize. Schmuck is picked up for being drunk in public after dancing down the middle of University Avenue (super busy) with a beer in one hand and a cheeseburger in the other.

Already hilarious. But it gets better.

They go to stick schmuck in a cell, but while changing from his street clothes to prison togs, a presumably naked schmuck says “Hey, you guys ever see Cyril Sneer“, then tucks his penis between his legs, bends over, and hops around.

I swear to God, I am not making that up. This story includes an incredibly obscene impression of the villain from The Raccoons.

I could not make that up. Even my perverted imagination has limits.

So during his no doubt hilarious impression (seriously, how does one acquire that skill), the police notice the edge of a plastic bag sticking out of of schmuck’s rectum.

Yup. Schmuck is packing drugs in his rear compartment. So what might have just been a night in the drunk tank turns into a drug possession charge (4 hits of Hydromorphone for schmuck, and all because of his Cyril Sneer Naked Dance.

And all in little old Charlottetown, back home on Prince Edward Island.

The story could not be more perfectly Canadian.

And speaking of perfect Canadian stories, this one is going around the Internet.

And in this one, we get to make fun of Americans! Joy.

Seems an off-duty cop from Kalamazoo was in Calgary and some people who were giving away free tickets to the Stampede approached him to ask if he had been to the Stampede yet.

Clearly, this was an argument that said off-duty cop should have been able to carry a concealed gun!

At least, that is what said cop argued in a letter to the editor of the Calgary Herald.

Here is his version of the encounter :

Recently, while out for a walk in Nose Hill Park, in broad daylight on a paved trail, two young men approached my wife and me. The men stepped in front of us, then said in a very aggressive tone: “Been to the Stampede yet?”

We ignored them. The two moved closer, repeating: “Hey, you been to the Stampede yet?”

I quickly moved between these two and my wife, replying, “Gentle-men, I have no need to talk with you, goodbye.” They looked bewildered, and we then walked past them.

I speculate they did not have good intentions when they approached in such an aggressive, disrespectful and menacing manner. I thank the Lord Jesus Christ they did not pull a weapon of some sort, but rather concluded it was in their best interest to leave us alone.

Would we not expect a uniformed officer to pull his or her weapon to intercede in a life-or-death encounter to protect self, or another? Why then should the expectation be lower for a citizen of Canada or a visitor? Wait, I know – it’s because in Canada, only the criminals and the police carry handguns.

Some people think this is an expert level troll pulling our chains, but the Herald insists that it is the text of a real letter they received.

I know which I prefer was true. I want it to be a real letter so I can laugh at it. What kind of a pussy gets that threatened by two guys trying to give them free tickets then feels all macho when they go away, but still wishes he had been packing heat?

I picture this guy as a shrimpy little guy already a little freaked out by the simply enormous culture shock between the US and here (these clean streets can only be the product of COMMUNISM) who then gets approached by a few big Alberta rednecks and covers his own cowering fear by pretending like they were some big deal threat. Fools the wife, or so he thinks.

Pathetic, really. Yes, you are right, in Canada only the cops and the crooks have handguns. And that is exactly how we like it, because it means that Canada is so safe that nobody else even feels the desire to have one.

Maybe that is because we are not surrounded by cowardly paranoid Americans with gun fetishes, just itching for an opportunity to commit legal murder with their oversized phallic symbol.

Just a thought.

That is it for this week, folks! Tomorrow, we tackle some way cool Science stories!

See you then!

Content free living

Or, how to skip your entire life without even trying.

Once more, slept most of today and will likely sleep once I am done typing this. And once more, I cannot tell you how voluntary it was. I have come to realize that my general lack of physical activity makes it very hard for me to figure out if I am sleepy because I need sleep, or I am sleepy because I have not fully awoken from my last nap.

So I tend to assume I am sleepy all the time. when in reality, if I was to become even slightly more physically active, I might find that I wake up and feel energetic once I get going.

The other side of the problem is, if anything, even more disturbing.

I have this problem with being unable to change my mind once I decide to do something. It sounds like a recipe for steely willed determination, and I suppose in the right situation it could be. I know I can be incredibly stubborn, for better and for worse.

But the problem with this inability to change my mind once I have decided to do something is that things change. The thing I decided I would do next might actually turn out not to be the best idea, and I really should change my mind and do something else.

But I can’t. I really can’t. The decision has become a compulsion, and the very idea of changing my mind and doing something else fills me with the kind of desperate, existential terror that I imagine is the bane of OCD sufferers.

So when it comes to sleep, I might wake up, get out of bed still feeling sleepy, decide that after I eat and maybe load of the bread machine, I will go back to sleep, then do those things, and realize that I am not longer sleepy and I could do all manner of things… but I go back to sleep anyway because I just cannot help myself.

I planned it, I intended it, and so I must do it. And it is not like I am a highly regimented person otherwise. It is not like I am a rigid, orderly, organized person who writes to-do lists which always end with “write tomorrow’s to-do list”.

I admire those kinds of people, but I am not one of them. I am more of the free spirit slash slob type. Creative, not ordering mind. That kind of thing.

And yet, I have this compulsion to do what I have planned. I think it stems from my fear of the existential void of unlimited time that I live in. A plan, even one that turns out to be a bad idea, reduces the option pressure for a time, and provides some desperately needed structure and direction in this endless corridor of infinite doors in which I dwell.

All these years, and I have still not learned to generate my own structure to my life. Perhaps some of us just never will. We will forever be dependent on outside forces to be the vessels that give us form and motion, and without them, we are just useless, worthless puddles of potential.

Bodies without skeletons.

At least I have this little compulsion, this writing a thousand words a day. That gives my life a tiny but vital sense of purpose, of their being some reason to be alive and some purpose to my day.

Without it, I would be forever lost in that void of meaninglessness without it. I wish I was more purposeful about it, instead of just splurting out my emotional issues and trying to sort my entrails out every night at this time. If I was writing novels, I could write (well, rough-draft) at least three novels and probably more like five at this rate. If I was writing short stories, including proofreading and polishing and so on, I could probably produce one every three days, or 120 a year.

I would be amazingly prolific if any of this was meaningful. I suppose bits and pieces of it might be useful for my fellow depressives. Heck, some of it borders on poetry. But it is not the sort of thing one can sell, and so from the point of view of wanting to write my way to a better life, it is not worth much. I am hardly building a ladder out of this pit with these words.

At least, not directly. It is always possible that this sort of writing serves a therapeutic purpose, and that combined with the actual therapy I am getting from Doctor Costin, it serves the purpose of helping me cleanse and heal the wounds inside and move me towards being a healthier, happier, saner, stronger, more whole and wholesome person.

And that is what I want more than anything. I want to rescue that abandoned inner child inside, and comfort him, and help him heal and grow and mature and get all the love and attention and guidance that he never got when he was me.

I want to heal inside so I can be a real person, someone who does, no whohas, what other people have. Jobs, co-workers, lovers, homes, money. I want to be like them, instead of just being this ridiculously unbalanced isolated unwholesome pathetic disgusting brain in a diaper.

I want to grow as a person and catch up with my age in terms of life experiences and achievements. I know that I might never exactly line up with the standard model for modern middle class life, and in many ways I would not want to do so anyhow.

But I want the core of it. Love, the money necessary to live as I please and please myself to live, a place to really call my own, meaningful labour towards a worthy goal.

I want all of that, and I am so far behind, and I am catching up so very, very slowly.

Recovery is like crawling over broken glass sometimes.

The ringing bells

Had some messed up sleep this afternoon. I would blame the heat but this shit happens in the dead of winter too. Afternoon sleep is always the wackiest. Perhaps it is the ambient noise level. I don’t know.

Anyhow, I woke up… but not quite all the way. So I got stuck for a while in this half-awake state where all the ambient noise of the local rugrats playing and all the noise from the construction next door and the birds singing and whatever else swirled together and I could have sworn I was also hearing church bells ringing, not the cool carillon kind that play music but the God-awful (ha ha ha) kind that just ring and ring without tune or rhythm, like the Wind Chimes of Satan.

All in all, it was a very Calgon Take Me Away kind of moment.

Hard to imagine that I was only seven years old when that ad first aired, and yet I remember it so well after not seeing it for 32 years. Makes me wonder what the secret of making an ad people will remember for their entire life could be.

I have a dark suspicion that it involves being annoying. Or really good, I suppose. I mean, I still remember this commercial from my childhood and I remember quite enjoying it.

I could have sworn it involved a whole lot of young people at night, doing that cool “using one candle to light two, two to light four, and so on” thing. That was the version I liked. Even as a wee thing, I grasped the symbolism, and candles at night in a group can be so beautiful. Each candle a person, each light unique, all forming a pattern. How can you not like that?

But there is no candles in the version above, so perhaps I am mixing it up with another ad. Or there was another version for Xmas or something. After all, the first version was an enormous hit. It really caught the public’s attention and focused the zeitgeist, which was the idea of course.

So it would not surprise me if there was a sequel. Or if I totally made it up in my mind. That is always a possibility in a mind as fertile as mine. Sometimes things spring whole out the darkness and manage to sneak into my memories without having to pass the reality guards.

Anyhow, eventually I was able to pull my wits together and escape the Calgon Whirlpool, and the strange things is, now that I am fully awake, I actually feel quite good. Relaxed, calm, mellow. So I guess it was all worth it.

Only problem is, I feel so calm and mellow that I want to go right back to sleep! And I bet I would get really top drawer sleep too. But I got things to do.

(But I might just do it anyhow, and be a little irresponsible. I do not feel this positive very often. If I could get some really good sleep out of it, that could really help me along. )

Looking forward to going back into therapy on Thursday morning. My therapist has been gone on a two week vacation, and so it feels like it has been several forevers since I saw him last. I have gone through a fairly rough patch without him, and part of me resents him for going away on me and leaving me to fend for myself for a couple of weeks.

But of course, the rest of me, most of me, knows that he has as much right to a vacation as anyone else. It is just hard to be entirely reasonable and rational about someone on whom you have grown dependent.

And, I suppose, part of my problem is that I put such intense pressure on myself to always be sensible and honest and reasonable and easy to get along with and so on. I do not give myself any leeway to be “in a mood”, to behave in an unreasonable way out of the need to express an emotion, to be grumpy or crabby or put out, to act for purely emotional reasons, to really express my whole self.

Instead I am tightly locked inside myself, with very little of the enormous pool of latent emotional energy that makes my emotional weather system so volatile can make it to the surface and get expressed.

Everything stays inside. Sometimes I feel like a dormant volcano, one that dreams of erupting and plans on erupting some day, but in reality has accumulated such a tightly packed volcanic plug in its cone that it will likely never erupt again.

But if it does, it will be with shattering force. Like motherfucking Krakatoa, baby.

Other times, I feel like a vast electrical cloud, filled with unimaginable energies, but most of the time far too high in the sky to strike anything on the ground, and so the energy just grows and grows without any way to discharge. And what does reach the ground is random and destructive but does not really accomplish anything.

So really, recovery for me is like building a bridge back to the reality I fled from so long ago, when I was molested by my father, and have been fleeing from ever since.

I realized the other night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, that a really big part of me wants to go in the opposite direction as my dreams and aspirations. It wants to be able to curl up into a ball and shut reality out somehow, so that I just did not have to deal with it.

I suppose that is the part of me that finds the idea of catatonia attractive. I think these feelings are coming to light because I am getting closer to dealing with my deep problems, and the only way out is through my conscious mind, so I have to become painfully conscious of them, and definitely not
just push them back below the surface and bury them deep again.

It will not be easy. But I am a pretty implacable fighter once I set my mind on something. I might not move really fast, but I give no ground and victory is inevitable.

It just gets lonely sometimes.

Out the other side

Had a mildly freaky thing happen to me today, and I thought I should write it down here.

First, last night’s little get-together went off OK. I cooked the mini-pizzas and they were quite good despite the fact they got a little burned around the edge.

I baked them for the time the packaging said, and so I am annoyed at the company for that. But then again, I checked them five minutes before they were supposed to be done, and I said to myself “Gee, these look like they are already done to me!”, but I put them back in for the rest of the time anyhow, and so I blame myself more than the fine people at Sabatto’s.

I have pretty good instincts when it comes to cooking. I should listen to them more often.

Oh well. We have another 12 in the freezer, and when I make those for tomorrow night’s supper, I will bake them for less time and they will be even tastier than before.

I was particularly happy that I liked these frozen mini pizzas, because I do not like any of the Pillbury variants. They all have some weird note to the flavour of the sauce that I just cannot stand. Seriously, it makes my throat try to close, which is a pretty clear message from one’s body : DO NOT EAT THIS. The very thought of it makes my stomach squirm.

But these are quite nice, even slightly charred. And they were on sale at Costco, 7.99 for a dozen, so I figure they were a pretty good value, too.

53 cents for a tasty mini pizza? Works for me!

Most of the invited guests showed up sooner or later, although one I was particularly keen to see did not, and I was quite disappointed about that. But he had two emergencies, one a family tragedy and the other a case of “hey, nobody from our group showed up for Pride duty!”, the combination of which meant he spent Sunday manning a booth at Pride, then getting on a plane for Calgary to attend a funeral.

Poor dear. I do not blame him at all for missing our own little lazy soiree. I am sure I will catch up with him soon.

And at least we didn’t have any sudden uninvited guests like these people did.

Those nice folks were having a pleasant pool party in Africa when a friendly neighborhood elephant decides to drop in for a quick drink. But then, and this is my favorite part, the elephant apparently senses the social awkwardness and decides to back out of the situation apologetically.

I totally identify with that elephant. Big, fat, clumsy, socially awkward. I am that elephant.

I figure the elephant’s inner monologue as being something like this :

“Derp a derp a durr, just wandering through the forest, looking for something to drink. Hey, look, a pool of water! And what a pretty color it is. Welp, guess I will just help myself. Snooooooork it up, and then…. hmm, this stuff tastes weird. It almost tastes like the smell of….. humans? Oh crap, I am surrounded by them, aren’t I? No wonder it got so quiet. Uh…. hey, great party! Nice… um… human… stuff. Oh, look at the sun. Time for me to go. Lots of leaves to munch and foliage to trample, you know how it is… so I guess I just…. uh…. yeah. ”

A very human reaction from a very elephantine elephant. My heart goes out to him.

Oh right, the weird thing that happened. Well, during the course of last night’s festivities, I consumed an entire 2L bottle of cheap generic diet cola. That meant that I had a lot of caffeine in my system. So I was fairly dubious that my sleeping pill would make a dent in all that caff, and so I was pretty sure I would not be sleeping for a while.

And sure enough, I took the pill at 5 am, and still could not get to sleep by 6 am, so I decided to get up and have breakfast and then try again.

This I do, despite not feeling a heck of a lot sleepier after eating. It takes a while, but eventually I get back to sleep at something like 7 am.

I wake up feeling more or less refreshed, stretch, feeling fairly decent, and do my usual thing of wondering what time it is and making a guess before actually getting up and looking at the clock.

I figured, based on previous patterns, that it would be around 10:30 am.

It was almost 4 pm! Holy crap!

That was a fairly profound moment of subjective temporal dislocation there. I never sleep for that long! I had slept right through lunchtime, almost to early evening. Not only was my blood sugar low from not eating, but I had missed my chance to go to a friend’s yard sale. And I had really been looking forward to doing that. A chance to both help out a financially imperiled friend and pick up some books I have no read? Count me in!

But I missed it! Dammit.

I am mostly over the feeling of dislocation in time, though not quite over the feeling that I just plain lost most of today. Like I just plain skipped it. Went into a tunnel in time and came out the other side, dazed and confused.

That too will fade in time. It is odd to imagine that somehow the secret to my getting a normal amount of sleep is to combine a lot of caffeine and Zopiclone, but it is not impossible. There have been times when caffeine actually made me sleepy, which I think is a sign that I am radically overtired and hence a stimulant actually boosts me up just enough to let me relax enough to sleep.

Throw in some Zopiclone, and maybe you really do have a recipe for me actually sleeping eight hours in a row like a normal person.

Stranger things have happened.

I asked for it

Well, I took my sleeping pill and got some sleep, just like I wanted.

And now I feel bad, I am tired as hell, I have guests coming in two hours, I have to start cooking for them in around an hour, and I feel wretched. Oh, and I slept all day.

So why did I want this again?

Looking back, I can’t help but feel like I could have skipped the pill last night and let the manic mood continue and gotten a bunch of stuff done today, like cleaning up for the guests and making a dessert for tonight (although Felicity is bringing a cake, so that probably will be a moot point) and all kids of other little things I would rather have done at a leisurely pace, but now need to be done on a rather accelerated schedule because I slept all god damned day.

Oh, and I still need to show before the guests come, but I can do that while the pizzas are cooking, so that is not such a big deal.

Oh well. I will hopefully get my engines running by the time they show up and the rest of the evening will be a pleasant and intellectually stimulating, relaxing evening with friends.

Had intense dreams. I know the last bunch were set in a hospital, and I was doing something terrible important but was also a patient, and (this is the very cool bit) there was a point where I realized all the people around me were actually evil robot replicas… even my mother. They were like the replicants in Blade Runner… seemingly human but sadistic and without empathy or a conscience. There was a very emotional and heroic scene where the fake version of my mother said something about enjoying seeing little kids being tortured (never said this dream was subtle) and I objected, and it said something awful, some evil-justifying bullshit, and I stood up and said :

“You are NOT my mother! My mother is sweet, and kind, and compassionate, and you are nothing but a cold and evil bitch. Now get the hell away from me!”

And then I fought all the robots around me, who attacked me now that their secret was revealed, and I completely kicked all their asses except for one who survived. He asked “So I guess I haven’t pissed you off?” and I replied “Not yet. ”

(Again, not subtle. But that was pretty badass, you have to admit. )

And I know there was a part where me and my allies had to sneak into this secret ward of the hospital and do something then get back to the elevator before the robots could stop us. And we did it, except that one of the robots has the bright idea to throw something at the back of my head when I am on the final corridor to the elevator, and I go down, and what do you know, I end up… in the hospital.

So in a sense, the robots cannot win, because no matter what they do, I end up in the hospital. At least, that is how it seems to me in the dream. Awake, I can see a few flaws in my assumptions.

Pretty exciting stuff, what I can remember of it. Not surprised that it all took place in a hospital. Not only do most of my dreams take place in large buildings of some sort (hospital, high school, hotel at a convention) but I have a side of me that thinks it would be nice to have some harmless medical condition that nevertheless justified long term hospitalization, so everyone would take pity on me and tell me how brave I am, and anything I accomplished would seem like a big deal.

Of course, in real life, I have loathed being in the hospital every time I was there, and I highly doubt that I will like it any more if I end up there again. Sure, the hospital provides a layer of protection from the stresses and expectations of reality, but it is also very very very BORING and pretty much every minute I was in there, I longed to get the hell out.

Plus, of course, being in the hospital is humiliating and painful. I might not have a lot of dignity in my life, but being in the hospital takes even that away. Wandering around in a butt exposing robe, at the mercy of nurses, unable to even take care of your own personal needs… that is just plain awful.

So no, I do not really think that being in the hospital would somehow make my life better. It is just the escapist part of my mind longing for an even deeper escape from reality, and being willing to ignore the practical objections in order to keep the dream alive.

Much better would be a source of income that could let me live autonomously, with enough cash to afford a few part time servants to protect me from the little realities of life so I could concentrate entirely on being a creative type writing person.

Of course, arguably, I sort of have that now. It is not that I lack for material security and the time to write my little heart out if I so chose.

Like I have said many times before, the real problem is pleasure. I rarely get to indulge myself or do things that are just for my own pleasure. I think this makes it hard for me to develop motivation for things which do not produce immediate, strong pleasure responses. Like food. Food immediately and reliably gratifies. Hard to beat that.

Things like trying to writing salable works, or working on long term projects, they provide rewards which are both long term and without guarantee. I might work real hard on something, and no reward comes from it. Kind of like this blog.

And without security of small instant pleasures, it is hard to believe in the long term ones at all.

But someday, god dammit.

A strange place in the cosmos

Forgive me if I am a little off key and out of phase tonight, but I seem to have hit the drought phase of my sleep schedule and I have not slept in almost 24 hours.

Luckily, I went to the pharmacy and got a refill on my Zopiclone today, and I will take that after my midnight snack and hopefully get some normal sleep.

Normal for me, anyhow.

It disturbs me to imagine that I am going to be stuck on this long mood/energy wave function for the rest of my life. It is so unstable and unbalanced that I just cannot trust it and if I cannot trust the personal universe in which I live, I despair. How can I get anywhere if it is going to be like that?

Of course, I know the answer. Life does not have to be a flat straight road smooth road in order to be worth living. I am never going to be able to control things that much. Certainly not without a heck of a lot more money in my pockets. I know that I would be better off if I simply learned to accept the cyclical nature of my reality instead of expecting straight lines and always being battered to pieces by the waves. Can’t control the weather or the waves, just my little boat. Got to be a better pilot instead of only taking my craft out on the calmest of waters. And so on.

But I am not there yet. Letting go of the illusion of control is harder than anything I have ever done. Ditto for learning to accept unpredictability, spontaneity, the free full flow of emotions into action, acting on inspiration, taking more chances, and all the rest of that good but difficult stuff.

I can only hope that I find my own kind of stability and safety some day, out there in the world. Something unique to myself, something that maybe requires a lot more input of energy and will than my current slackluster life, but is so much more rewarding and suited to my personality that it is far, far, far more than worth it.

Until then, I will have to keep walking into the deep dark woods without compass or map, trying hard to convince myself that I have the faith in my own ability to handle things and survive that I have lacked for my entire life, and find my own path through the darkness to the light.

Certainly, I will continue to stretch open my emotional aperture and learn to accept that life is turbulent, not regular, and that you cannot get anywhere on this ocean without getting a little wet.

Today has been pleasant, lack of sleep aside. Went to Costco with Joe and Julian, which is something I enjoy. I have always enjoyed grocery shopping. I am not sure why. Perhaps I am satisfying some deep “gathering” urge from my feminine side. I just find shopping soothing. I even enjoy the mental challenge of sitting what I want into a budget and making the priority calls involved.

What can I say… I just love process. It makes me sound like the dullest person in the world, but it is true. I sometimes wonder if I would have been happier following my original plan to take business in college and become an accountant. Sure, the work seemed very dull, but that was paper bookkeeping, not real accounting. All that stuff is done in spreadsheets on computers in this millennium, and I definitely think I would have been happier as some kind of entrepreneur.

Maybe start my own chain of very quiet, conversation-friendly restaurants. Restaurants for introverts, more or less, and/or intellectuals.

People who actually want to talk to the people they are with.

Oh well, my life is as a writer, director, and all around creative type and intellectual at (very) large now. I might end up in business some day via the entertainment biz, but I am a writer over all.

Tomorrow, I will be playing host(ess?) to some friends, and making supper for them. Well, baking up some mini pizzas for them, anyhow. Not exactly from scratch, but I still will enjoy cooking for people. And I will try not to get all emotional about it like I usually do.

That is the problem with cooking for people with all the love in your heart. That is putting a lot of emotional pressure on food. You cannot help but take rejection of your food as rejection of your love, and hence, of you. And when you are a big ball of soppy sentimental sensitivity like me, whiskers aquiver with vibrations real or imagined, you are so sensitive to rejection that all it takes is a slightly disappointed look and you are a wreck.

I will attempt to steer around these rocky shoals and just bake my pizzas, put them out for people to eat, and try not to take anything personally.

See, this whole learning to live with emotions is tricky. Feeling things is not optional… you will always feel something.

But when you suppress the free flow of emotions, you just strand yourself in a land where you experience all your suppress emotions in slow motion forever. And the longer you practice this non-coping mechanism, the heavier this burden becomes, until you cannot even move for the weight.

And you have borne this burden for so long, and it has grown in weight so slowly, that you think that this is the nature of the Universe, and not just your own version of it.

And that if you just turn and face all these demons who follow you and drag you down, you can deal with them one by one, and free yourself of that massive burden.

And with each demon dispelled, you get more of yourself back, parts of you connecting to one another and merging and coming to life for the first time in decades.

And you get big pieces of yourself back from the Devil.

And that is why they call it recovery.

Friday Science Constellation, August 3, 2012

I will not talk about how subjectively recent the last entry seems.

Instead, let’s talk science! Been a pretty good week for cool science stuff and I am happy to my writing all about it on this lovely August evening.

I will also not talk about how rapidly this summer seems to be passing me by.

Tonight, we have gamer science, scary cool space science, scary bad hacker science, and autonomous car related science. Four fun stories, and what the hell, let’s get right down to it.

First, we have gamer science.

Gaming Of The Future

We will start off with the Kickstarter page of a way cool technology with a ridiculously pretentious and overblown name, Oculus Rift.

Believe it or not, that is not the name of an obscure cult game from the DOS era or a Star Trek destination that seems far too good to be true… and is. It is a VR helmet that promises to deliver that fully immersive video game experience that we all thought we would have by now, back in the 90’s when the whole “virtual reality” buzz was going around.

Here is their spiel :

With an incredibly wide field of view, high resolution display, and ultra-low latency head tracking, the Rift provides a truly immersive experience that allows you to step inside your favorite game and explore new worlds like never before.

Sounds good to me. I have only been waiting for something like that for like, my entire life. And those are the three things that nobody that I know of has gotten all working at the same time before. You were always sacrificing at least one of them to get the other two to work.

The low latency is especially important, because VR systems which did not update the screen fast enough when people turn their heads before (in other words, high latency) actually made people acutely motion sick because what their eyes were telling them and what their inner ear was telling them was badly out of sync. Makes me feel ill just thinking about it.

And it makes sense that this is the time for the VR revolution to finally happen, in this era of dirt cheap accelerometers and motion tracking software.

I hope these guys make it. I only wish I could donate.

Devourer of Worlds

A warning for Felicity : the following story is scary and about a massive black hole. You might want to skip this one and pop down to the one about black hat hackers.

Here is the scary space story : In a distant galaxy, far far away from our own little cosmic back yard, a super massive black hole is devouring a star, and we get to watch.

Heck, we even get to listen. Well, “listen”. It turns out the ripples in space caused by this massive calamity are so regular, they can be likened to sound[1], and if they were a sound, they would be rockin’ the celestial spheres at a completely inaudible 4.8 milliHertz.

So, not exactly the next “sound” to rock the charts, but still, pretty damn cool.

Now of course, as a science fiction thinker, I immediately imagine that the star involved has a wise and ancient civilization on one of its planets that will be tragically destroyed by the incessant munching of this very real version of Galactus or Unicron.

Of course, it is equally likely that one of the planets is host to a race of complete and utter bastards for whom all the good and decent species of the Universe will shed not a single tear.

It’s just fun to speculate.

Four Million Places To Stay

On to some bad news for the hotel industry : a Black Hat type hacker has figured out a way to seamlessly hack into about four million hotel room doors that use those swipe cards as keys.

Turns out, all you need is an Arduino microcontroller and the right software, and you can essentially read the code for the door right off the lock, and then just feed it back in, and presto, the door opens. It is exactly the sort of technology that heroes and villains have in action movies, only presumably without the huge LED that displays each number of the code as it is cracked.

I have wondered whether such a hack was possible ever since my first science fiction convention, when I first encountered the keycard locking system. I reasoned that it was highly unlikely (at the time, before the wireless revolution) that all these locks were connected to a central computer, and therefore their locking code had to be stored in the lock itself.

So I can only assume that these four million locks are pretty old by today’s standard. And they will all have to be changed. This is not a software problem. If the “key” to unlocking the lock is stored inside the lock, you have to change the whole lock.

Gonna cost some chains a lot of change.

Stop In The Name Of The Law

Finally, touching on one of my favorite subjects, autonomous driving, the EU will soon require all new cars to have autonomous self-braking systems in order to prevent crashes.

Makes sense to me. The technology has proved itself fully on the roads of the world. It clearly prevents a wide spectrum of crashes and makes those that do occur a lot milder. I see this as no different than requiring seat belts or airbags. Anything to make the road safer, and it is hard to make an argument that it violates your rights to crash if you feel like it.

What really intrigues me is the view down the road about ten years, when most cars on the road in Europe have one of these systems installed. Will we find that road casualties have taken a drastic drop?

I sure hope so. We all know that driving is one of the leading causes of death in society, but we don’t pay attention to it because it’s “normal”.

It is good to know that people are still working hard to make driving safer.

And a computer’s reflexes are a million times faster than yours.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. Because in space, nobody can hear you scream, but astronomers can hear you wobble.

Content and stuff 2

This mixing in links and pics and stuff with my usual psychotic ramblings might be becoming a habit. Why is is that no matter how much I try to avoid the restrictions of regular features so that I can always write whatever I feel that day, I always seem to fall into habits anyhow?

It is like they crystallize out of the rich and complex primordial stew that is my brain and its constant Brownian motion without my even having to will it. In fact, it would probably be nearly impossible to keep order from spontaneously occurring even if I tried really hard.

That is just how creativity works, or at least, how mine does. Everything that comes in gets broken down, dissolved, and absorbed into the mix, and then subjected to constant mixing and remixing by the metaconscious processing layers, until something becomes big enough to be caught my the various strainers constantly straining/stirring the broth, in which case it is brought up into the consciousness (sometimes at exactly the wrong moment) and if it is good enough, it gets used somewhere.

If not, it goes right back into the soup.

All kinda gross sounding, admittedly, but that is how I roll.

Meanwhile, here is something to make you lose sleep at night.

His eyes! They burn into your soul!

Sorry for any resulting nightmares, but the pic was just so hilariously disturbing that I had to share it. Just had to do it. Felt oddly compelled.

(Help Gary Busey In My Mind Please Help Must Regain Control Of Aaaaaaaargh)

Today has been better than yesterday. I still do not feel wonderful but I feel better than I did before. Maybe I gained some psychological insight by writing out all my pain and badness and despair. Or maybe I am just riding the high from the emotional release. Yay catharsis! Catharsis rules.

Or maybe this is all just the random effects of cosmic radiation on my neurotransmitters and I have no more input into how I will feel in the future than a cockroach has on the orbit of Mars.

Depression sure as hell feel like that sometimes. Like you have no power in the world, or at least, no power over the only thing that truly matter, whether or not you will be happy or sad. When you think about it, everything we do is an attempt to control that single variable, the one where the positive numbers are happiness and the negative numbers are misery.

And us depressive, we feel like we have no control over that variable, and that someone has their finger on the scale and is pressing hard towards those negative numbers. Like we have this huge heavy weight that we carry around that nobody else can see and that keeps us down down down in the negative hundreds while other people rarely ever see a number below +10.

And they can’t understand why what works for them can’t work for us.

Of course, in a sense, that weight is real. It represents the neurochemical reality of the disease known as depression. With our screwed up serotonin levels (as well as other neurotransmitter levels), we are truly, physically, chemically less able to be happy than others.

That is why the modern era of antidepressants has been so important to the treatment of depression. The SSRI drugs help fix the chemical situation, and only then can you hope to treat the psychological disorder caused by it.

Depression can make it feel like you are falling, always falling, falling in slow motion…. kind of like this little science trick.

OK, not the best segue ever, but whatever.

Pretty nifty effect, huh? Means the magnetic pull of the magnet is so strong that it can partly overcome the strong pull of gravity on what is basically a huge cylinder of metal, when given a ferrous (copper) cylinder to fall through.

Looks like magic, but is just extremely visually awesome science.

Sometimes I wish dealing with my depression was as simple as stepping into a magnetic field that gently aligned all my particles so they worked in harmony with one another, and changed all my negatives into positive, and grounded out all this crazy energy I have inside me so I can be happy, calm, neutrally charged, and solid.

Instead, I often feel like there is a powerful electrical storm inside me at all times, with high winds, massive waves, and me lost in the fracas somewhere, drowning.

I know that the solution is for more of that energy to escape my tiny pocket dimension of a soul and flow into the world. But that is harder than it sounds. I get the feeling that I have achieved what fragile equilibrium I have inside me by pitting the various energies against one another in a kind of high energy stasis, and so releasing any of it releases a lot more of it into my inner weather system, and only makes things worse in the medium term.

But in the long term, of course, I am far better off. So I continue to seek sweet, sweet catharsis. If I coudl let it all out in one big ring explosion, I would, and deal with the consequences after.

Speaking of before and after…

This just show that TEXT RULES MOTHERFUCKERS!

I am not a cell phone user myself, but this comic bears the ring of truth to me.

So in conclusion, today feels better than yesterday, and hopefully, tomorrow will feel better than today. I still do now know how one psychologically adjusts to a fundamental lack of stability in one’s inner world, but I get the feeling it involves an awful lot of letting go and learning to just take things as they come, without expectation, prediction, or attempting to control everything.

You cannot control the ocean, the weather, the waves, or the reefs.

You can only steer your boat as best as you can.

No way out

Another nothing of a day, spent mostly in sleep or something like it. And it was totally by choice today. Even when I took my sleeping pill and went to bed at 6 am, I was not tired. I just did it because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. After all, it was 6 am!

But the pill had little effect. I could have stayed up for hours more. But I went to bed anyway, and the truth is, it was because the idea of staying up terrified me.

I am still deathly afraid of having to be conscious for hours and hours and hours on end. The idea of having to find something to do with myself for all that time just about crushes me.

What would I do with all that time? What is there to do when I am tired of using the computer and it is not time to eat yet but to sleep? How do I live my life in realtime, with no using sleep as the fast forward button to life?

What the hell do I do with myself, anyhow? The sleep is not just a fast forward button, it’s an escape, a safe haven, a retreat, a cocoon. I have felt myself actively yearning for this escape hatch and eagerly anticipating when I will be able to use it next. I find myself picturing going to bed as being like diving in to a cool, soft, relaxing pond where I can leave reality behind for a while and retreat into my secret lagoon where the world cannot find me.

When you think about it, for someone whose problems all stem from a pattern of responding to anything like stress or pain by retreating further from reality and deeper into his mind, retreating into sleep makes a lot of sense. In sleep, we live entirely within our own minds. There is no objective reality in dreams, only the contents of our own thoughts, desires, instincts, memories, and so on.

So by spending so much of my life in sleep, I am basically retreating as far as I can into my mind without removing objective reality as an option completely. The only step further into my mind would be complete and total catatonia, and believe me, there have been times when that has seemed like an attractive option.

Just give up on reality completely. Retreat into my mind and never come back out. Leave external reality to others. Maybe someone would find my physical body and care enough to arrange that my basic bodily needs are taken care of in some institute for housing vegetables, maybe nobody would and I would die of my diabetes within 24 hours when my blood sugar crashed for good.

I would not care. Maybe I would go directly from the dream world to the afterlife, if there is one, which seems unlikely. Maybe I would just fade away. Maybe I would die in a nightmare of pain, blood, and horror as my dreaming mind interprets the ravages of the disease on my body and brain. Maybe something altogether strange and unpredictable would happen.

That would at least be interesting.

But no matter what happened, I would finally be done with the reality that I find so hard to bear. I would have taken that final step and retreated completely into my mind. It would finally be over.

And to be honest, that idea has a lot of appeal for me. Deadly appeal, to be honest. I can completely see why an overdose of sleeping pills is the method of choice for many suicides. You imagine that you will just fall asleep and never awake up. What could be more perfect?

Of course, the reality is not quite so tragically perfect. A lot of sleeping pills have very nasty effects that are nothing like peaceful sleep when taken to excess. Instead of sailing serenly to the shores of sweet silver oblivion in a shining schooner. you end up fully awake, vomiting blood and in total agony as your nervous system tries to save its own life by counteracting the sedative with everything it has.

Still, just the same, given how I feel right now, I am glad I only have 1 zopiclone left. I might be tempted to do something stupid.

And yet, as low and sad and crushed under by life as I feel by life right now, I think this is a period of progress for me. I think becoming fully conscious of my abuse of sleep and my problems dealing with reality is the first step towards dealing with the problem. Right now there is a lot of pain and fear because I have seen the mountain I must climb in order to be free, and it seems impossibly tall a rugged from way down here in the valley of my despair.

But the secret is not to look at the mountain. Look at the ground beneath your feet. Decide in your heart that climbing is better than staying where you are, and that you are not going to think about how much further you have to go, or how high the mountain is, or any of that self-defeating crap.

Instead, you just start up the mountain, and are happy because now you are climbing. And any time the climbing gets too rough and it is hard to go on, you can always look down the mountain to see how much distance you have already covered, and say to yourself “If someone had asked me if I could climb this high when I was way down below, I would have said no. And yet, here I am. So I guess I don’t really know what I am capable of before I try to do it. ”

And you take that lesson to heart : that the predictions made in despair are wrong, and therefore you should not base your life around them.

Instead, assume that you can do anything you want to do, and all you have to do is keep it up.

And then, one day, you reach the top of the mountain, and look down the other side, and realize that the worst is over and it will be much easier going from now on.

And you did it all by yourself.

Won’t that feel wonderful?