Sighing, no longer in the mood to meditate, I wonder if Maharishi Mahesh Yogi ever had these problems?
from a fire pit
Original, over-exposed image from iSight camera in MacBook Pro:
Imaged sharpened and darkened by me in iPhoto:
Image tweaked by my brother in Photoshop (15 mins work):
I've been married to a flat iron for a few years now, but yesterday my stylist finally showed me what to do with my hair's natural curl. Wheee!
As a child I always looked forward to my father going deer hunting because it meant that I'd get to sleep with my Mom. There were four of us children but I was the lucky one who was given the honor of sleeping with Mama. She said she liked sleeping with me because I kept still when I slept and I was the best goochier [her term for cuddling]. When we would get into bed she'd say, "scoot over here, honey and let's goochie up." She would wrap her arms around me and I could feel her smell my hair and sigh. There was no better feeling in the world to my little girl's heart.
cold winter night
warmth and love
Walking out the door he says "we'll go at noon...I'll give you a call." I jump up and start getting dressed so I'll be ready when he calls. The dog gets excited because he senses we are getting out of the house today. Noon comes and goes...no call. I carry the phone around with me everywhere I go so I will not miss his call. 1:00, 2:00, 3:00...still no call. Thirty eight years of waiting for calls that will not come. One day I will learn his word means nothing.
raking desolate fields
I have to admit I enjoy having "Benjamin" who hijacked fond adversaria, around.
He arrives with bland advice about food that I can't imagine anyone reading through. He asks for nothing, demands nothing, does not engage.
He doesn't know us, knows that we don't know him, but he writes in the first person about his personal preferences and reommendations. In his water post, he takes care to remind us not to substiture his advice for that of a doctor, and disclaims liability.
So far, we have been treated to his thoughts on coffee, radiation, water, and chocolate. What will be next. How will my diet change next week in response to his latest advice.
This is my body, which is given up for you; do this in remembrance of me.
1 Corinthians 11:24
"A special team investigating the cases," reported the New York Times on Saturday, November 23, 2002, "arrived and found body parts in a freezer, as well as purses and other personal effects later linked to the missing.
Not one body has been found intact, and a wood chipper and Mr. Pickton's pigs are believed to have devoured much of the evidence."*
"The prosecution played a videotape in court of a conversation Mr. Pickton had with his cellmate after he was arrested on Feb. 22, 2002. Mr. Pickton did not know his cellmate was an undercover police officer. Mr. Pickton's cellmate, who said he is in jail on an attempted-murder charge, tells Mr. Pickton the best way to dispose of something is to take it to the ocean.
"I did better than that," Mr. Pickton says. "A rendering plant." * *
Lipstick, soap, animal feed, meat.
"It wasn't just the guests of Piggy's Palace who consumed Pickton's pigs. The unusable remains of the pigs Robert slaughtered and served to his friends and neighbors--pig entrails, brains, bones, nerve tissue, and gore--were taken by truck to a rendering plant near the DES called West Coast Reduction Ltd. Many are certain that the partial remains of the murdered sex workers were also trucked to West Coast Reduction Ltd." *
“[He said] that thousands of people had been to the place [“Piggy Palace”], and, though he had enjoyed some roasted pork, was certain it did not come from 953 Dominion Avenue, that is, from pigs that had been eating the women murdered on the Pickton farm.” *
"As well as beauty products, rendering plants also make food for farm animals that humans consume."
"[P]olice raided the farm in 2002, the property had become a horrific graveyard. Police testified they found Mr. Pickton's trailer strewn with women's clothing, makeup, sex toys, syringes and duct tape. "* *
Crack Whore Confessions in-depth review:
"The page is laid out just like the tour so you know exactly what you’ll be seeing. There is a row of links on top and then the thumbnailed pictures of all the crack heads that he has interviewed and banged . . . There are 73 current crack whores in Crack Whore Confessions. Cracker Jack updates weekly so there is always a new slut to see and hear . . . The videos are amazing. They are so in your face real that you’ll be sitting on the edge of your seat listening to these sluts discuss openly the horrible past that they have lived though . . . every one of these crack whore’s has a story to tell and each is more shocking then the next. It is no wonder these sluts turned to crack as an outlet . . . The videos are all in .wmv format. You can also save the ones you liked the best on your harddrive for watching later. The clarity is good and so is the sound. You almost feel like you are Cracker Jack."
In this brothel called America
She is on the blue path walks against the dawn
White powder her cursed solace
Thievery and lies her language
Needle her core
No judgment in this lake of fire
She is far away as stars
Her eyes small winters of death
Pray for her
She can’t keep warm without this spoon
Takes us on a journey of defeat
Her arms black with scars
Path which comes to silence and stays
Split in the lightning of red and white
Pierced with love for women
She falls to her knees hoarsely cries
I cannot live without oblivion
Pray for her
Let our voices lead her to another way
Pray with all our spirits
Lead her stumbling bruised ashamed
Away from this dark drowning in white
Stars give her strength
Sun turn her eyes
Moon guide her feet
Earth turning hold her
We pray for her
We sing for her
We drum for her
Pickton convicted on six counts of second degree murder.
I can't decide.
One thing's for sure—a jar of fetuses is not as unfunny as some people imagine.
At least they're not racists.
It's been interesting to watch the debate over Saletan's "Created Equal" series here on Wikifray, but at the end of the day, any damage that he's done to the idea of a non-correlation between race and intelligence pales in comparison to this:
Sherri Shepherd Doesn't Get That Whole BC Thing, Insists "Jesus Came First"Of course, there is the obvious counter-argument that Ms. Shepherd's ignorance stems from a religious upbringing that didn't leave room for a critical understanding of history, but the dearth of other high-profile examples could make that a hard sell.
One of the interesting things about the Black community in the United States is its overall penchant for conspiracy theories, and with this exchange, Shepherd fits herself very nicely into one of them - that the American Media Establishment (tm) is engaged in a perverse form of "affirmative action," intentionally putting Black "knuckleheads" (to borrow the term from Bill Cosby) in front of cameras, as a way of bolstering racist arguments that Blacks are stupid.
In a lot of ways, the most enduring legacy of racism is the expectation of racism, which is why I cringe whenever a Black person makes a fool of themselves on national television. In a way, I expect everyone who has watched Shepherd on television to look at me and say to themselves: "Black person on television: idiot - therefore, Black person in front of me: idiot." Of course, in expecting a person to judge me based on the color of my skin because of the color of their skin, I can't exactly claim the moral high ground, now can I?
Maybe I need to re-evaluate where the "real problem" actually lies...
It’s cold and you’re shivering. You’ve been out here for three hours with no action and now you’re jonesing. What’s wrong with these dudes tonight? No one’s stopping. You’d call it a night, but it won’t be any better inside, so you stay put, shifting from foot to foot, hugging your arms around you to keep in what heat you’ve got.
Just one date, you whisper to the air, and I’ll be okay until tomorrow. You look down at your legs, bare under the short skirt. They’re thin and covered with goosebumps. Your knees are scabbed and bruised. Johns don’t like it when you’re marked up. Is that why no one’s stopping?
This sucks. If I get a trick, I’ll save some of the money and get something to eat. And tomorrow I’ll go and have breakfast at the drop-in. I’ll call detox and see if they have a bed. I’ll call my mom, too. This is no way to live. Just one trick, and tomorrow I’ll start getting it together. This is a common refrain for you, but you believe it. This time, you'll do it differently.
That truck’s been circling. You remember it because it has some big drums in the back. He sees you look at him and he pulls over. You bend down to peer in the window, making sure your cleavage is visible through the opening of your jacket. You open the door.
“Heya, he says. He’s a choice specimen, ain’t he? Strands of greasy blond hair reach down to his shoulders, and he hasn’t shaved in about a week. And what’s that smell? Eee-yuck. It’s godawful. You’re backing away when he leans over and throws the door wide.
“I’m awful sorry about the stink, he calls, ”but if you can stand it for twenty minutes, we’ll be at my place. I’ll get myself cleaned up, and then we can party.” He gives you a big smile that shows broken, stained teeth, and you stop holding your breath for a moment, testing the air, considering if you can stand the smell long enough to endure the ride back to his place, You grimace. Why don’t you come back to my room? It’s just over there, at the Balmoral. You can get a shower while I go and score.
I got everything we need back home. Got some rock and some down. X, too, if you want. Lotsa booze, of course. People are going to show up for a party later. I got some clothes back there that’ll fit ya, warmer than what you got on. In five minutes you won’t notice the smell. I’ll take care of everything. Just get in.
This isn’t the way you like to go, but you need to get high. Something in the back of your head is trying to get your attention, but it’s vague, like a faint red light blinking far away, and any hope you might have had of feeling the little prickle of warning is overpowered by the stench and your hunger for the drug.
You get in the truck.
In February 2001, before 9/11 made him a hero, Rudy Giuliani was having some trouble with religion and the limits of power.
In an exhibit of contemporary black photographers at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, a photograph entitled Yo Mama's Last Supper "feature[d] the photographer, Renee Cox, nude and surrounded by 12 black apostles." Other works in the exhibit depicted a topless woman crucified.
Cox, a native New Yorker and herself Catholic, said the "Last Supper image highlights legitimate criticisms of the church, including its refusal to ordain women as priests."
Giuliani called the work "disgusting" and "outrageous."
"Why can't a woman be Christ?" Cox responded, "we are the givers of life!"
The ACLU objected to Giuliani's use of his office as a means to curtail the museum's first amendment rights. While it was fine for him to object to the exhibit for personal reasons, calling for a task force to pass judgment on the art was unconstitutional.
The mayor was reaching well beyond the purview of his government in a misguided—one might even say hysterical—attempt to control public discourse. Giuliani declared that he was "appointing a task force 'that can set decency standards for those institutions that are using your money, the taxpayers' money.'"
This wasn't the first time Giuliani had tried to use the office of mayor to assuage his delicate sensibilities. In 1999, over an image of the Virgin Mary that had been embellished with elephant dung, "the mayor froze the museum's annual $7.2 million city subsidy -- about a third of its annual budget -- then sued in state court to evict the museum." In the museum's counter suit, a judge ruled "that the city had violated the First Amendment." The museum's funding was restored.
It's a good thing he lost the case, but how much of the city's money did Giuliani spend in a personally-motivated court battle aimed at violating an institution's rights? Undeterred by that failure, Giuliani declared that this time "he would go all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, whose decisions he said are based on 'showing decency and respect for religion.'"
We express amusement and dismay over the Sudanese government's claim that a teddy bear named Mohammed constitutes blasphemy, but how different is that from what Rudy did, except in degree? Are either of these reactions proportionate to the offense? Are they rational?
Whether you agree with his objections to the art or not, Giuliani failed to grasp the limits of his office, and he abused his power in the service of a personal issue. Given the current regime's track record with things of this nature, can America really afford a Giuliani presidency? article
— — —
NSFW: image image
Saletan asks us to consider a thought experiment in which biological differences make for difficult social choices. The critique of Saletan that makes the most sense to me, and that he does not appear to engage, is that our understanding of biology is already social. It's thus hard to imagine a scenario in which differential/unequal treatment of people would be preferable to a rethinking of our biological categories.
My thought experiment: imagine a world in which social status is based entirely on height. Height is very clearly a biological difference. Tall people could claim that there are any number of areas in which they were biologically superior, in part because they lived in a world devoted to the betterment of tall people. They could even come up with mythic reimaginations of human history in which (for example) reaching the farthest branches had always allowed the tall better access to food, superior living conditions, etc, etc.
Now, I happen to be not especially tall. What counterargument is available to me? The tall have biology on their side -- height is a function of genes. But of course, the real biological difference does not have to correlate to social hierarchies. Hence the argument of the short -- that biology is not destiny, that there are other imaginable worlds that have been systematically not imagined -- that have been discarded or not thought of -- because biological categories have naturalized social inequality.
Surely a just society is one that finds the best way for biological differences to be advantageous to all concerned, that finds opportunities for both short and tall. An unjust society is one that allows prejudice to shape scientific categories, thus justifying discrimination.
Saletan's a smart guy, and I'm sure he understands something about the history of science. I'm sure he thinks (probably correctly) that the fray criticisms are too strongly shaped by current culture wars. But it's not like the categories Saletan uses are any more immune to culture. Surely the history of scientific ideas of race is so horrific that we are justified in being particularly cautious.
Two side points:
1. Any genetic difference is really a difference in phenotypic effect, and those differences in phenotype depend on environment. A gene for digging, for instance, icould easily be a gene for digging when you are on the ground, and splashing when you are in the water. The nature vs. nurture debate is thus a false dichotomy. It thus makes sense to think of "genetic" inequalities as a result of the environment in which the genes express themselves. So even if we take Saletan's thought experiment in a naive way, and conclude that people from Antarctica are genetically more intelligent than people from the Arctic, then surely the appropriate response is to change the Arctic environment such that the phenotypic effect of the genetic difference is not so stark as to create permanent inequality.
2. But I don't particularly want to grant Saletan even that naive interpretation. I just don't believe that there is a truth, out there, independent of our categories of perception. "Intelligence" is a creature of our own manufacture. We made it to serve a purpose in the world -- education. If people are not being educated, then we need to create a different concept that will allow us to order the world in a more equitable way. That seems to me the thrust of much of the disagreement with Saletan, and I don't see how he feels justified in brushing it aside.
The flap over the "Created Equal" series of columns, for some reason, reminded me of an earlier stand alone Human Nature column. Back in March, William Saletan wrote "Mind Makes Right," about a study published in the journal Nature. I found this study interesting enough to mention it on Nobody In Particular, and I suppose that it's lingered in the back of my mind ever since. But thinking about the challenges of egalitarianism in the face of arguments over inequality, it came back to the forefront.
Scenario 12: Lifeboat 2What makes this scenario interesting is that fact that the injured passenger is going to die, no matter what you do. If you push them overboard, they drown. If you leave them in the boat, it sinks, and everyone, including the injured passenger, drowns. And depending on how you read the scenario, even if the rescue boats were to show up right at that moment, the injured passenger is going to die from their injuries.
Mean emotion rating: 5.1
You are on a cruise ship when there is a fire on board, and the ship has to be abandoned. The lifeboats are carrying many more people than they were designed to carry. The lifeboat you’re in is sitting dangerously low in the water—a few inches lower and it will sink.
The seas start to get rough, and the boat begins to fill with water. If nothing is done it will sink before the rescue boats arrive and everyone on board will die. However, there is an injured person who will not survive in any case. If you throw that person overboard the boat will stay afloat and the remaining passengers will be saved.
Would you throw this person overboard in order to save the lives of the remaining passengers?
"Damage to the prefrontal cortex increases utilitarian moral judgements" - Nature
"What really interests me [... are] the things at which we as a society will grasp in order to justify pushing people off the boat."Whatever the reason, Malthusian scenarios and people's sense of justice do not mix, and conflicts between the two often conspire to make people cowards of a sort. People either flee difficult decisions or look for ways to make them easier. The injured passenger on Nature's sinking lifeboat is guilty of nothing outside of bad luck, and it feels unfair to push them overboard, even when everyone else's life depends on it. And so people have difficulty in persuading themselves to do so.
"No, we are not created equal. But we are endowed by our Creator with the ideal of equality, and the intelligence to finish the job."
William Saletan "human nature: Created Equal - All God's Children"
It's very late and I'm wide awake, propped up on some pillows in bed with my new MacBook Pro. I'm still familiarizing myself with Leopard. It seems like there's some dazzling new discovery around every corner. I've got Thievery Corporation playing in iTunes, and everything is cool blue and silver, just like in Heaven. I know this is crazy, but this computer—I feel that it loves me.
Real moonlight, full night moon, variable moon, daylight only...
I'm trying out some new software. I've got the EarthDesk demo installed and it's very pretty, even though it says "NOT LICENSED - Evaluation Use Only" right across the African continent. It reloads the composite satellite image of the planet as often as you want, and it will render in a number of different formats, but even though it follows the rotation of the earth, it's still just the same desktop image over and over. Even toggling the options, it's not going to get much more interesting. I'm not inclined to spend money to keep it.
A copy of iLife came installed on the computer, but if it hadn't, I'd pay the $78 to buy it, merely for the iPhoto upgrade, although Garage Band is cool, too. I used it to record a CBC radio broadcast that I had running in Quicktime. And here's the thing that's great about Apple: whatever way you can think of to do something, more than likely the programmers have thought of it, too. I had never even seen Garage Band before, and three minutes after launching it I was recording live radio in it. That was encouraging. Maybe I'll learn to podcast.
I'm on the fence about MarsEdit. It's a handy little program for composing and uploading blog posts. Though I like its simplicity, its features are quite limited. The preview feature is nice, and the idea of having all my draft posts stored in one location where I won't forget about them is tempting, but I think the next generation of these will be much improved. I can't figure out how to insert an image into a post. If it was an Apple program, it would be readily apparent how to do something like that. I have yet to try to upload a post from it, but I'll try it out with this one and see how it works.
[edit: it worked well. Okay - I'm off the fence.]
One program I am going to pick up is Mindmap Pro. It provides you with the means to create a graphic map of your ideas with little more effort that it takes to make notes. In fact, it makes notes for you, putting your mapped ideas into a structured outline that you can use as a template for your writing. I test-drove it by making a map prior to writing these three posts, and that convinced me that I'll get good use out of it.
Okay—I saved the best for last: Apple Mail—the most sublimely simple and beautifully designed mail program that ever was. It's streamlined to perfection, with all the little details taken care of out of view. There is nothing about this program that annoys me. For instance, I am so over bouncing icons that alert me to new mail. Now when I get mail, a pleasant electronic purr sounds, and a number appears on the icon in the dock, indicating how many new items are waiting. It's all very civilized. Although there are many ways to manage incoming information, search retained mail, activate items in iCal, and even leave oneself notes and to-do lists, there are no extraneous functions to clutter the thing up and provide me with details I will not stay on top of. On the other hand, you can handily add in all the extra functions you want.
I've got you where I want you.
My favorite feature allows me to put the RSS feeds for all your blogs into Mail, so that new posts and comments show up in my mailbox promptly after you post them. Each feed comes into its own separate file in the inbox, but if I place all the feeds into a folder, I'll get an aggregate of all the blogs that I can access with a single click. I used to have a hard time keeping up with what people are posting, but no more. Now it all shows up on my doorstep. This does take some of the joy of discovery out of it, but the added consistency and convenience make it more than worth the trade. In addition to the blog feeds, I've got BOTF and a few other Slate locations tucked into another folder. Best of the Fray posts are even stranger this way—like alien missives when they arrive, anonymousely, in my inbox. If I can bring myself to read one of them, I will try to guess who wrote it. I'm about half right, so far. They're no more readable here than they are on BOTF, but my guessing game is mildly interesting. I only wish I could assign those posts the alert sound that resembles an electronic fart, but it's one sound for everything, alas.
I just love that I get alerted to whatever you post shortly after you post it. I imagine that if I turned the alert sound up while I was taking a nap, the notification would wake me up. I can get my Mac to read your posts to me, too. I tried it the other day. It was fun. I might do that some more. I could run through all the different voices and pick a unique one for each of you. It would almost be like you were reading to me, wouldn't it?
[the pictures of me in these posts were all taken with the MacBook Pro's webcam]
Porn? Evangelism? Nope. Whoever snagged my old blog is flogging coffee. I totally approve. And John? I'd never have seen it if the URL wasn't still in your blog feed, so thanks for putting the feed back into the Wikifray sidebar.
I'm lying on the couch, half asleep, with Sweetpea stretched out across my lap, and I've got my new Apple keyboard propped against him as I write this post. He doesn't seem bothered by this, which is testament to the graceful unobtrusiveness of the device's design. If this keyboard were a human being, it would be a young poet. It's amazingly thin and sensitive, and it connects wirelessly to my laptop from up to sixty feet away. Like the keyboard, the wireless Mighty Mouse is blue-tooth enabled, with laser tracking and state-of-the-art functionality. Honestly, though, the mouse, nice as it is, has nothing on the laptop's trackpad, which gives me the ability to move the cursor, drag and drop, double click, and scroll horizontally and vertically, all by tapping or sliding one or two fingers on the flat surface. I've got all the options turned on, and the settings set to their highest sensitivity, so I can practically just breathe on the trackpad and it does what I want. I also purchased a cable that allows me to hook my laptop up to my television and turn it into a second desktop upon which I can manipulate objects via the wireless mouse and keyboard. Do I need to do this? Of course not, but it will come in handy if I can convince my brother to teach me Photoshop. Peering over someone's shoulder is not the optimal way to learn, or to share things one is working on, or reading online.
I also picked up a little microphone accessory last week that pops into the bottom of the iPod Nano, and now I'm speaking into that, recording this post instead of typing it. I'm still lying on the couch with Sweetpea stretched out on my lap and the keyboard propped against his butt. He's snoring quietly. The laptop is on the coffee table beside me and the bluetooth mouse is on the couch by my hip. Scooter's sitting on the table, observing the scene with an expression of mild disdain, but I am not the least bit ashamed of my self-indulgence. With the flexible stem on the mic, I can prop the voice recorder on my chest so I don't even have to hold it, which is great because at the moment, holding it seems like entirely too much trouble.
All I need now is a blue tooth phone that will sync with my mail program, and maybe a telescoping arm that would suspend the MacBook above me as I lie here on the couch. Other than that, I'm well equipped. I can even go out in style: I have this big square Calvin Klein shoulder bag that my mom gave me for Christmas last year. It's grey satiny fabric with silver leather straps and accents, and it matches my laptop as though it were specifically designed to carry it. At some point I'll need to pack my Mac up and go out, but right now I'm too sleepy to go anywhere.
If only I had voice-recognition software that would transcribe this recording into a word document, but alas, I'm going to have to do that myself. But not right now. Right now I'm just going to lie here and flirt with sleep until it either overcomes me or gives up and goes elsewhere, and even then, I probably won't get up. In fact, if I didn't have to get up to eat or go pee, I think I could lie here forever. If I got bored, all I'd have to do is pick up the tiny laptop remote and open Front Row, the sleek new platform for accessing iTunes, iPhoto, DVDs, and video. I could watch a DVD or listen to a lecture without hardly moving a muscle, and since my brother has hooked up my stereo so that I can run iTunes through it, I have access to good-quality sound—not that my little Bose earbuds are deficient, but you can only wear those things for so long, and I'm going to be here a while. If I get lonely, I can get on iChat and visit with a friend. If I want to send an email, I can type it on the little keyboard, and even take a picture of myself to send along with it, without even getting up to get my camera, without getting up at all.
Wow, it's really freezing outside. I can feel the chill from here. If I could, I'd bribe someone to come and put on a fire. And perhaps as long as they were coming to build a fire, they might bring me some movies. And a four-shot latte. God—I'm sleepy! It must be winter. I could stay here, cocooned like this, for the duration. I have a huge jug of protein powder, a box of mandarin oranges and a dozen packages of ramen noodles. That should keep me for a while. I don't need to leave the house. Sleep is pulling me down. I'm hibernating.
Although my seven-year old Mac Pismo had proven perennially expandable and well nigh indestructible, it was having trouble keeping up with its younger siblings and it wouldn't accept some of the new software upgrades, so on Friday evening two weeks ago I stopped by the Mac store and got a shiny new 15" MacBook Pro.
A new Mac! Too excited to wait until I got home, I opened up the box while I was waiting for takeout. As people around me were wolfing down their messy chili fries and poutine, I removed the styrofoam biscuit and slipped my new laptop out the envelope of soft fabric that enclosed it. The packaging was sleek and functional, but I wouldn't have been surprised to find the device tied up with colourful ribbons or folded inside a large square of silk, like some sacred temple artifact.
The brushed aluminum surface was like cool satin under my fingertips. I touched the button on the front and the cover popped open as if eager to grant me entry. I pressed the power button and the screen came to life in a fan of aurora borealis colour over top of a black, star-speckled backdrop. An ambient groove played over the small speakers, welcoming me to the Leopard experience. I stroked the silver keyboard and trackpad and felt something akin to religious awe, as if in those moments a small cluster of winged sylphs had emerged from the machine and now hovered in the air above my head.
And then my food was ready, and I hastened to put the computer back in its box and collect my order. At home, after dinner, the machine led me through the set-up procedure and I completed forms with my personal information. Suddenly my face appeared in the on-screen window and the set-up assistant instructed me to press the red camera icon. When I did this the screen flashed bright white. The assistant asked me if I wanted to use the resulting photo on my profile. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"
Once the computer and I were properly introduced, I set about familiarizing myself with the new environment. Among the many new features included in the upgrade, Leopard introduces some fresh solutions for organizing your work. Mac users no longer have to wade through a desktop cluttered with downloaded files, or find that they've lost track of their primary task under a pile of open application windows. In Leopard, the workspace is fluid and flexible. It expands, breaks, slides, flips, pops open and folds back up again. Apple has always been known for creating intuitive and redundant processes, and 10.5 maintains that tradition: you can access different views by mousing into the corners or the edges of the screen, by selecting items in the dock, by mouse clicks and by F-key commands.
Two new features provide novel ways to manage files and workspaces: Stacks sit in the Dock, and with a click they pop open vertically, revealing all your downloads or documents in a long chain. Spaces allows you to multiply your desktop and put different groupings of work on different desktops. To move work around between desktops, you just drag it from one space and drop it into another.
Except for the addition of a reflective silver platform, the Dock is the same, but the Dashboard is new. Dashboard is Apple's answer to widget-based user-built spaces like those offered by Firefox, Google, Opera and Netvibes. And as usual, Apple does it better: not only can you create your own Dashboard widgets directly from Safari with a simple clip and drag, you don't even need to open a browser to access your widgets for Wikipedia, Google, Calendar, Mail, YouTube, iTunes, Movie or TV schedule, Weather, Calculator, Yellow Pages, and many others. Clicking on the speedometer icon in the Dock brings your custom Dashboard to the forefront, overlaying and dimming other items on your desktop. Another click and the dashboard slides away, leaving your desktop as it was.
Time Machine is a automated back-up function that makes copies of all your files at regular intervals and stores two weeks of changes on an external hard drive, so if you lose something, you only have to scroll back through Time Machine's chronological files to locate the version you need.
The updated Finder adds a graphic preview feature that shows the contents of a file sliding across a mirrored black stage. Each image or document or application appears in miniature and takes its place in the spotlight when you scroll to it or click on it. This allows you the convenience of viewing the contents of your file in the Finder window before opening it up on the desktop.
This brief review covers only a small part of the magic that is MacIntosh. Stay tuned for part two, coming tomorrow.
According to this article in today's New York Sun, the Australian Labor Party, led by Kevin Rudd, holds a solid lead in the polls over the Coalition led by incumbent Prime Minister Howard, with only a few days left until the election. This lead, the article says, can be traced back to a surge of Labor support following a visit to New York by Mr. Rudd, in which he and Col Allan, the Australian Murdoch protege who edits the New York Post, went out for a night of heavy drinking, culminating in a visit to Scores, where bouncers threatened to eject Mr. Rudd for touching the dancers and other "inappropriate behavior."
There's a great animated comment on this by Nicholson in The Australian, here.
Evidently, "values voting" Down Under can have different implications than it does here.
William Saletan has started a new series in Human Nature, titled "Created Equal." In the first installment, "Liberal creationism," he lays out, with supporting facts, his basic argument that differential evolution has lead to an uneven distribution of traits between various racial/ethnic groups. Certain groups are better at certain things, or their bodies work in different ways, because prehistoric conditions favored those developments. So everybody has their strong suits. "Not that that's much consolation if you're stuck in the 21st century with a low IQ," he says, during the wrap up.
Now, I like Mr. Saletan, and enjoy reading Human Nature, but sometimes I think he completely misses the point. I think that he should have said: "Not that that's much consolation if you're stuck in the 21st century with a physical resemblance to the low IQ group, and the high IQ group decides that during a shortage, it's looks, and not test scores, that govern the food rationing." This is what William Jennings Bryan meant when we spoke of "'eliminating the weak,'[...] and undermining 'the sympathetic activities of a civilized society.'" And this is what's really at stake with the constant bickering over who's smarter than whom.
Human dignity means little in the face of famines, epidemics, wars or even simply high unemployment; and when people are needy (honestly, or just in their heads), they search for reasons why they, and the people they care about, should be the first (and sometimes only) ones in line for resources. (And, let's face it, most of us haven't done anything that would get us to the head of the line on our own merits. Thus the tendency to attach ourselves to the coattails of some person, or some group of people, that we feel DO merit an entitlement.)
Rather than a give and take on the idea of racial IQ, and the politics thereof, I'd like to read a series on how IQ came to be the end all and be all. Why do racists and eugenicists seem to gravitate towards what has to be the least easily measured trait that a person has?
But if you don't see me, let me know.
A while back, I was planning a post on the topic of consequentialism; essentially, the belief that the ethical measure of an action or inaction is its consequences, at least as reasonably foreseen by the actor. My take on this was that we are all consequentialists in the last analysis. Those who claim to be deontologists; that is, those who believe that the ethical nature of an action depends upon whether it is in accordance with a duty incumbent upon the actor, whether that duty is believed to be ordained by divine command or, as with Kant, arising from our status as free and rational beings, are really saying that we are too shortsighted to evaluate fully the consequences of actions, and that, therefore, we must yield our judgment to hard and fast rules. In other words, deontology could be said to be consequentialism with a strong gloss of epistemological modesty.
For example, while a consequentialist may argue that destroying human embryos to harvest stem cells is ethically OK because it provides the means to alleviate great human suffering, while causing no pain to the pre-conscious embryos (this is a utilitarian argument, utilitarianism being perhaps the best-known form of consequentialism), a deontologist might argue that such an action violates an overarching duty to respect human life from the moment of conception. If pressed to give a reason for such a rule, however, the deontologist might invoke a "slippery slope" argument, that is, if we allow this, we are taking the first step on a downhill path that may lead to the cloning of malformed embryos with minimal brain function, to be raised in vitro simply to grow organs to be harvested for transplant, and, beyond that, to the use of viable humans with substandard mental function for the same purpose. Or, she might give a more far-reaching, "Burkean" answer: by calling into question a time-honored notion of what's good and proper, we are disturbing a complex system of societal mores, and this may have consequences well beyond what we have anticipated. Note, however, that both of these arguments appeal to consequences, and therefore are consequentialist. (I now know that John Stuart Mill anticipated this argument in his preface to Utilitarianism almost a century and a half ago.)
What inspired me to write this was the death of Paul Tibbets, and, in particular, this piece by Bob Greene about him. What struck me was the sheer consequentialism that sustained him after that fateful day over Hiroshima. His bio shows a consummate warrior. Warriors seem to be archetypal deontologists. (I need only recall my last year of college, when my roommate and I had a deal: every time I made him suffer through a Dylan album, he could make me sit through his recording of the greatest speeches of General Douglas MacArthur. I can still hear in my mind the peroration of his farewell address to the Corps of Cadets at West Point: "Duty, honor, country, and the Corps, and the Corps, and the Corps.") Yet Greene's piece quotes Tibbets as explaining why he never lost sleep over the bombing as being
because "we stopped the killing." He was at peace, he said, because "I know how many people got to live full lives because of what we did."Here, indeed, is Jeremy Bentham's felicitous calculus at its most stark. Dostoyevsky challenged this kind of reasoning by asking something to the effect: If a world of eternal happiness could be purchased by the suffering and death of one innocent child, would you buy the ticket?
Not that anyone reads the bloody thing, but since one has has seen fit to post links to contributor blogs, it should be noted that I have since renamed the Cacaphony and Discord blog to Microwave Burgers.
Just as an interesting aside, if you do decide to rename your blog, go back to the URL at a later time and you may find that some Jesus Freak, possibly employing a bot, has hijacked your old URL for posting the usual feel-good drek for the viewing pleasure of... well... who the hell knows. Normally, I try to be very tolerant of the religious viewpoint of others (no, really), but I'm afraid that when you have, on your profile page... Industry: Religion... you've officially worn out my patience.
Religion as industry. I'm sure that's what Jesus REALLY wanted. Blessed are the religious industrialists, for they shall have the contempt of worlds for their possession.
Note to whoever is doing the scorekeeping around here, could you please make a note of the new address? http://microwaveburgers.blogspot.com. Thanx.
It's not you: slate.com - reach
I couldn't get the graph code to display in the post, so go to the link and change the view to one year. I wonder what that translates to in dollars.
Okay, riddle me this, Wikifray: One study demonstrates that lap dancers engage in fertility signaling behaviour when they’re ovulating, and another study shows that non-lap dancers walk more conservatively when they’re ovulating. How can these two results both be correct? Either women are signaling fertility, or they’re not, right? How can one group of fertile women make more money during fertile days, while another group appears more sexually alluring to men when they’re not fertile?
According to researchers, non-lap dancers throw out a net when it won’t have any effect, and they reel it in before they have chance of catching something, while those booty-shaking lap-dancers put out the long line, and their catch varies with the moon.
No wonder Megan O’Rourke, writing on Slate’s XX Factor Blog, snickers. No wonder Anna Applebaum sneers. The folks researching the sexy walk came up with this brilliant explanation:
That makes evolutionary sense, because it would benefit a woman to advertise her fertility only to those men she believes would make a suitable mate. In contrast, men can pick up on the attractiveness of a woman’s walk from long distance, and it can therefore act as an unwitting signal to less appealing males whom she might not want to choose. Dr Provost said: “If women are trying to protect themselves from sexual assault at times of peak fertility, it would make sense for them to advertise attractiveness on a broad scale when they are not fertile.
But what about the strippers, if it’s not the way they shake their money makers, then what is it? A husky voice? Bedroom eyes? Pheremones? I suppose any of these would fit neatly into an ev psych conclusion, but the researchers only say that the women are somehow signaling estrus. Maybe they whisper to their clients, “Mmm, I’m ovulating.” Would that count?
I have a theory. Well, it’s not really a theory, it’s more of a hypothesis. Acutally, it’s a guess, okay? A guess: women who are not lap dancers self-consciously minimize their sexy sashay during fertile days in order to not appear slutty. Why? Because our society has strong social proscriptions against sexual availability in women, and when they’re feeling the natural spike in arousal that comes with ovulation, they don’t want anyone to notice. And the strippers? They get paid to appear sexually available, and that’s easiest during the time when they’re feeling a natural spike in arousal, anyway.
I know—these are essentially the same conclusions that the researchers offered, but both of my explanations rely on women adhering to social conditioning, not heritable predisposition. Or is social conditioning founded in ev psych, too? Ah, I get it: everything is ev psych, because that just makes so much sense.
There's some interesting discussion in the XX Factor Fray, mostly castigating the bloggers for not making careful arguments. Their critics make careful arguments. Who knew talking about sex could be such a soporific?
If you have just received an invitation to join WikiFray and are wondering why, please read Ender's hara-kiri post, and the follow-up (fallout) over at the forum.
If you have posts on WikiFray and I've seen you in the last six months and I could find your email address, you've received an invitation. You're welcome to return and post, edit, delete or ignore the invitation altogether. If you didn't get an invitation, and you want access, email me at email@example.com, and I'll add you.
I can't get comments to show up. If anyone would like to fix that... In the meantime, there's the forum, for the next two weeks, anyway.
WikiFray is closed. Below are some of the familiar links. Thanks. Goodnight.
Home | Forum | Profiles | Join | RSS/Atom |
Best of the Fray
Age of Reason
Bored Of The Board
Cacaphony And Discord
I am not a god
Man Bites Blog
Nobody In Particular
Notes From A Transitional Fossil
Red State Impressions
TED BURKE, like it or not
the odd neighbor
The Outer Sanctum
this page intentionally left blank
topazz (with a zz)
When you thought it was quiet
Who Is IOZ?
Who Put Back the Clock?
So, if WF isn't a regular stop, which it apparently isn't, then what is it? Not worth the effort, I'm thinking. In fact, the only way I can see it being worth my effort is if its contributors made an effort to make it worth reading. I don't see that happening. And if people were game for turning it around, I'd much prefer to start anew on an entirely new blog. But I have to qualify that as well. I just don't think those that remain are capable.
So, I'm going to sleep on it, but I think it's probably best if I shut this place down. That involves installing a basic template and removing everyone's posting privileges.
WikiFray's search engine traffic for the last month by keyword. Click on image for larger version.
Or he could if I had a penis. The fact that I don’t have a penis pretty much makes me invisible to Jacob Weisburg. Don’t believe me? See for yourself:
Mario Vargas Llosa
Missy Chase Lapine
Those are all the names that appear in the titles for all the articles on Slate, as of Monday night. A couple of articles mentioned women without referencing a specific woman: Help, my wife feels unsexy! Help, my wife still smooches her ex!
So, Slate’s a men’s magazine. I admit that I’m a little shocked, but I guess I’ll put on my big girl panties and deal with it. It’s still a subsidiary of the Washington Post, though, right? WaPo certainly wouldn’t display a bias favoring men as the writers and the subjects of its articles, would it? Have a look for yourself. Scan the front page. Note how many of the photos, the titles, and the bylines are men, and how many are women. Try some of these, too, if you’re curious: Salon, The Atlantic,, Harper’s, Newsweek, New Yorker, TIME, New York Times, MSN, CNN.
At least the NYTimes and TIME make an effort to keep their front pages ungendered, although I'd be surprised if their content reflected the same lack of bias. Of the sample, only CNN.com had a significant percentage of women as subjects, bylines and images. But don't take my word for it. Cast a critical eye on your favorite publication and see how it measures up.
The Atlantic, one of the worst offenders, had a the following teaser on its front page: The Future of the American Idea: “For The Atlantic’s 150th Anniversary, meditations on America’s future from Tom Wolfe, Eric Schmidt, Tim LaHaye, Christopher Hitchens, Frank Gehry, and many others.”
Because women don’t have any ideas. Or at least not any Big Ideas. It’s no wonder there are so few women mentioned in the history books, when we really have nothing to offer in the worlds of politics, business, finance, technology, science, medicine or sports. Because those are the domain of men. The domain of women? Fashion, cooking, children, and sex. Always sex.
That’s just the internet, though. Surely other forms of media must be better? Like radio. I don’t listen to radio very much these days, but surely women are given a reasonable amount of airtime there? As more than cute sidekicks for sexist dudes, I mean. How about it?
And what about TV? Most of the shows have women, right? In decent, non-sexist roles? And the writers, the network execs—aren't one or two of them women, too?
How do your favorite shows measure up?
>Top TV shows:
Friday Night Lights
Ah, it's depressing, isn't it? I don’t even want to give you this list, now. I'd rather let you go on about your day, thinking that feminism won, that equality is had by all, that women have faces and voices, that they are human beings, just like men. But I’d be remiss to leave it out now: >Top Movies.
So, Jacob, dude—I understand, really I do: it’s not just you. It’s everywhere, and without such efforts as the XX Factor Blog, women would be nowhere, at least as far as the media and as far as history are concerned.
I guess we should be grateful for the little bit of action you throw our way.
— — —
May 28, 2008 The NYTimes asks, Are We Too Male and Too White?
Favorite | Subscribe
Hello. My name is Aaron, but really, I'm Nobody In Particular. The nice thing about being just another random American is that I get to live in a really spectacular country, and just observe. And occasionally attempt to bore people into unconsciousness by posting commentary on what I encounter as I navigate my way around.
Please complete Phase I prior to proceeding with Phase II.
For an overview/better understanding of how all this works, read Hector's instructions, and in particular for this Phase II, scroll down to near the bottom of his post and read the part that starts, "To make this "introduction" works for labels..."
Okay, so, that gray area just below and attached to your label. We're going to fill that space with information about you. What information is up to you. Below this post is a post by me titled "ed" and labeled "ed". The combination of these two elements (title and label) cause the contents of that post to appear in the gray area just under my label "ed."
Your task is to follow suit. Author a post both labeled and titled with your two letter initials/label that you created in Phase I. Then fill that post with what you'd like to appear in the gray space above, under your label.
It is entirely up to you what you want to include. I will standardized the "Favorite" and "Subscribe" links in mine and apply them to everyone, so don't worry about that. Otherwise, feel free to experiment with feeds of your latest from around the web or your blog, images, testimonials, contact information, confessions, whatever. It is entirely up to you. But with great power comes great responsibility. That means check your work. The space is 900 pixels wide and 200 pixels high. I've also had little time to experiment with it, so again, if what you're trying to do messes something up, undo it and try something else.
What I'd like is for everyone to experiment with this. My guess is that some of you might have some bright ideas, and the rest of us will copy your examples.
I've deleted all the labels. Apologies for the inconvenience.
Please select a two letter label for all your posts. This two letter label (lowercase) will be your initials. For example, my initials are "ed". I've assigned this label to all my posts.
1. To assign this new label to all your posts, log in to blogger and go to the dashboard. From there, select "Posts."
2. Go to your last post and click "Edit."
3. Label the post with your two letter lowercase initials, and publish it.
4. Return to the Posts page and select "300" from the dropdown menu.
5. Scroll down the list of posts and check those that are yours.
6. Return to the top of the page and assign your initials/label to the selected posts.
7. Repeat for Older Posts.
Thank you, and stay tuned for Roll Call (of sorts) Phase II.
Hi all. As you know--assuming you still regular WF--WikiFray has been floundering. Contributing factors include the emergence of Quiblit, the confusion of nuponuq, the apparent successful redesign of The Fray, and my neglect. Nevertheless, the nature of the web is such that in spite of all this "searching" and thanks to the continued contributions of many of its members, WikiFray is a better idea today than it was when it first came into being. How's that?
I think WF has a role to play in keeping us connected. That is, in part due to WF we've all expanded our horizons and as a consequence our Fray roots aren't so deep . . .anymore. Given what's happened to BotF in our absence (read: there's no one left to keep the loons in check), the situation is that much worse. So, WF, as I see it, is worth keeping nice for that reason alone--as an old haunt for when you want to visit with old acquaintances, etc.
So there's that. No lofty aspirations. No grand scheme. Just a set of familiar walls. But even if that weren't the case, WF's worth as a blog, a url, also makes it worth saving. It enjoys a pagerank of 3, which isn't shabby and translates to search clout, i.e. your posts get a higher ranking in search results, or in English, your posts on WF are more likely to be read by strangers.
What then? Well, I'm going to reassume leadership of WF. That leadership is going to start with a redesign. I'm going to speed up load times and make the place more pleasing to the eye and efficient. I'm also going to add JS-Kit threaded comments (scroll down for a preview). I'm going to see about reintegrating into the fray, and hopefully Moira will start something interesting, a new column and a new fray worth posting in. I'll be watching for that. I'm also going to look into setting up a forum of our own. See Nabble. Not to disrespect nuponuq (and I'll keep those links going for as long as they're useful), but if I've learned anything from my experience with nuponuq, it's that there's no substitute for someone else, someone who knows what they're doing, managing the technical end of your site and paying for it out of their pocket. Nabble does that. Or to put it another way, Nabble is as good as the fray in that it's bigger than us. But Nabble is a bit down the line. Having a forum other than the fray has its perks, but aside from my own desire to see what I can do with it, I don't see it as being the focus, just something nice to have.
Which brings me sorta full circle. I'm going to strengthen WF's ties to The Fray. For better or worse, I like the new fray's software, and Moira's return makes me hopeful. Not anything specific mind you. In fact, chances are Moira isn't the fray's savior. But if she is, it changes things. And things do change don't they. For some of us at least. For those of us who only know The Fray through its reflection in our rearview mirrors. Quiblit, of course, will be integrated as well, not to mention everyone's blogs and the like. However, I am going to clean house. To do that in a nice way, I'm going to need hold a roll call of sorts. So, this is your heads-up. WF has benefits. I think you'll like what I'm going to do to it. Don't miss the boat. Hard to say, but I may be mostly done in a week, but for sure done by the end of this month.
It's a bit late, I know, but I got home and the fireworks are still going all over the neighbourhood. The cats are hiding - Scooter in the bathroom cupboard (I could tell by the containers of hairspray and body lotion laying all over the floor) and Sweetpea in some as yet undisclosed location.
And I, pathetically, am sitting here in the dark, hiding from the trick-or-treaters, because I neglected to get candy.
Please don't tell me if I've linked this before: The Sandman. At the moment, I don't need more evidence that I'm utterly lacking in foresight.
I hope Halloween is over soon.
The problem with seduction is time. You have to figure out that you are attracted to somebody, plot a means of approach, work up your courage, and execute your plan in finest form before the object of your affection gets off the subway. You have to move. And when you see that special someone gathering to hand the purses, backpacks, and other accoutrement of daily life, you know that your deadline is looming. What do you do?
If you are Maynard Gogarty, you pull the emergency break cord. And if you are Rudolf Delson, author of this season's best book, Maynard and Jennica, you give the subway its due say, along with a macaw, a scheming ex-wife, a man named Puppy Jones, scumbag lawyers, and Jennica Greene, the woman who provoked Maynard's subway impulse. This love story is told by thirty-five narrators (befitting, I think, the way love stories should be told -- in mock grandiosity, a bit like Bugs Bunny doing opera).
The New Yorker has a better write up than I can provide here. Suffice to say that the path by which Maynard and Jennica find each other extends well beyond the number 6 train, to San Jose, to avant guard film, to 9-11 scams, to really exceptionally bad poets, and to a cat whose name is a matter of some dispute. So rather than spending a cold fall rehashing yet another Philip Roth, wrap a blanket around your shoulders, pick up something new, and warm yourself up with Maynard and Jennica. Worst that can happen is you spend a few hours laughing your butt off.
Also: coolest cover of the season, by far.
(Caveat: I'm a terrible writer. Therefore, this may or may not make ANY sense. I'm hoping that it does.)
Do we set our standards for ourselves so high, that sometimes the only way to reach them is through self-deception?
"We do like our see-no-evil self-deceptions, though. I mean, we wear clothes made in sweatshops by children, and believe ourselves good, ethical, enlightened people (and by 'we', I mean 'me')."It should be remembered that positive self-regard (or self-esteem, self-love, positive self-image, or whatever it's being called this week) is learned. That is the likely state of a "blank slate" is likely more or less neutral. We learn this from the people around us whose opinions of us that we have learned to value. Despite what they might say, their own positive feelings towards us are conditional, to one degree or another. Those conditions might be very easy to fulfill ("I love you because you're my child."), or they might be more difficult ("I admire you because made top earner at the company last year."), or they could be somewhat extreme ("I respect you because you've won the Nobel Prize for Physics."). This conditionality is what prevents us from having positive feelings about everyone we may encounter, as a default state.
Dawn Coyote. nuponuq forums, 8 October, 2007.
But that conditionality filters down to the persons regarded, and the end result is that we, as people, tend to have a certain number of conditions that we feel the need to fulfill before we can see ourselves as worthy of love, respect, et cetera. And it can be argued that we often expect that others live up to certain conditions before we allow that they be able to respect themselves. But the real question becomes: do we set our conditions realistically, given the lives that we lead, and effort that we're willing to put forth?
If I'm going to predicate my self-image on the idea that I don't contribute more than my "fair share" of greenhouse gases to the environment, do I know what I'm letting myself in for? Am I willing to move to the desert, and live in an "earthship" so that I can go "off the grid?" Am I willing to forgo career opportunities, so that I can avoid having to commute? Will I limit my diet to things that don't have to be moved more than 100 miles, so that you don't have the effects of transporting things long distances? (Some folks in Seattle tried the "Hundred-Mile" food lifestyle - and found that the Puget Sound area has no local production of salt.) Am I actually willing to put the work into really understanding what things truly help, and what things just make me feel good? Or, I am simply going to buy a Prius and some Owens-Corning, call it good, and plug my ears when some obnoxious radical starts spouting off about it isn't enough?
In the end, the question is a simple one - do we set ourselves up for intractable conflicts between the facts on the ground, and the conditions that we set for our self-esteem through carelessly adopting standards that are too stringent for the day-to-day infrastructure of our lives to support? And, in doing so, put ourselves is a position where the path of least resistance is one of hiding - if not from the truth as we know it, then from the truth as we fear it to be?
You can thank Urquhart's tireless recruiting for gathering seven brilliant players to compete for subjugation of Europe.
As the clock rolls over on 1900, the powers of the continent find themselves uneasy amid tenuous colonial empires, and surging nationalism. It will take statesmen of extraordinary caliber to unite these many factions by force and negotiation. Fortunately, we have seven hotshots pulling the strings: August, Chango, Kyu, Ozymandias1, Rundeep, Schadenfreude, and Urquhart govern their restive masses, and push their armies to battle. Can any of them win the continent?
Follow along at the diplomacy blog.
Does anyone know?
I found these growing in the vicinity of my apartment. I've never seen anything quite like them before, and am interested to know what they are.
Now, before you say: "Oh my God! You didn't EAT one of those did you?!" please bear in mind a couple of things. I'm not stupid (as in liable to put some random species of fungus that I find growing my the side of the road in my mouth), I'm not particularly adventurous (as in liable to put unfamiliar foods in my mouth on a whim) and I am not a fan of mushrooms (as in liable to put any sort of mushroom, even the choice ones, in my mouth). But that being the case, I don't know anything about wild mushrooms, and little about domesticated ones, other than I don't care for either the taste of the texture. These caught my eye because of their color, and piqued my curiosity. I mean, how often does one encounter a mushroom that looks like an orange? (A question, given my luck, guaranteed to produce an answer of "every day.") If any of you know what these are called, I'd be much obliged for the information.
If you've been traveling the internets long enough you've probably happened upon a few sites that you wish you'd discovered/joined when they first came online. Alas, by the time you happened upon them your voice/participation was all but drown out by the throngs trying to win their own profits on the back of the sites success. And to what end, the further/continued success of the sites early adopters--the ones that joined it early and built it into hub of activity. The ones with the foresight to gamble their energies on the ground floor of a little known site rather than waste their energies feeding a well-known site in the hopes its elite would pluck them from the crowd to share in its fruits.
So I happen to know of a little known site with great prospects. It's the brainchild of a friend of mine who knows everything. He's also one of us, if you know what I mean. I'm plugging his site. What's that tell you? So check it out. In a single story house, the ground floor is also the top floor.
“Am I a pedophile?” A Google search employing this phrase brought people to my blog again and again. When fed this term, Google produced in the results a post on my now defunct blog which I had written about Mark Foley, and how I thought calling him a pedophile was both incorrect and foolish.
Just lately, the search term that has been bringing people to wikifray is “emo porn.” That one produces my post of Chris Crocker’s impassioned plea to the Britney-haters, but a cursory Google test of the term returns as a top result a link to the Suicide Girls site, which appears to have a new category entitled “Emo Porn.”
I consider what such a thing might look like, and I imagine sad, pale girls having sex with sad, pale boys—and indeed, clicking on that link produces a pair of naked breasts—but this is not what I have thus far understood the term to mean. In my mind, the etymology of “emo porn” can be traced back to the old Best of the Fray, where, attempting to describe the wailing and rending of garments that took place on that board following the New Orleans flood, switters employed the phrase “emotional pornography.” I responded by abbreviating it to “emo porn,” and we congratulated ourselves on our cleverness.
But the idea that people are coming to wikifray on that search term has given me pause for thought. “Emo porn”, hmm? What do you think of when you hear the term “emo”? More specifically, what age group do you think of? I think of “emo” as a youth culture sub-type belonging to twelve to fifteen year olds. So what are those people looking for when they search for “emo porn”? What sort of images do they expect to see?
On another board recently, I took offence to the claim that half of adult American men were viewing underage porn on a regular basis. The author of this blog post presents a poorly reasoned, rambling diatribe which includes the following:
The child pornography industry is so voluminous that, even taking into account the reality that most consumers may be repeat consumers, more than half of adult American males are taking a dip in this world. I’m sure you’ll agree that these statements are idiotic. Half the male population indulges in kiddie porn? 10 – 25% are outright pedophiles? Please.
So, the broader definition of pedophile includes more than half the population. The more focused definition -- those who have these desires and choose to act on them, either with physical contact or, as is far more common, with suggestive but non-physical interactions between themselves and those younger than them or as voyeurs and exhibitionists -- are a smaller but still significant category, perhaps 10 to 25% of the population. For these people, pedophile is a sexual orientation, in the same way that heterosexual or homosexual is a sexual orientation. It is compelling, it feels like a core identity, and suppressing it is difficult. [emphasis mine]
I believe I can speak with some authority here. I’ve been an avid porn consumer. At one time, I considered writing about the variety of porn products on the internet, and the mysterious appetites which they serve. I also know a number of men who look at porn. In fact, I assume all men look at porn. They are not pedophiles: not half of them, not 10% of them. They may occasionally view an image of an underage girl, but surely we cannot classify as pedophiles porn consumers who are unwitting participants in such activities?
Nevertheless, the responses to my objection got me to look a little bit closer:
Most people who use porn don't have any idea how old the "actors" are. And they don't care. So 50% may be way off base, or it may not be. It may speak more to how many under-age girls are being used in porn, than to how many men knowingly choose child pornography. I don't think that's really any less disturbing. The fact that they don't care who they are using to get off is what makes it so bad. Most men would jerk off to a 16 year old just as fast as they would a 25 year old. Is it true? Is viewing “Hot Asian Teen Sluts” equivalent to buying sneakers made in Asian factories that employ children for pennies a day, or is it worse? Someone else said this: Porn tells lies about women, but it tells the truth about men.
I made another assumption about the 50% referenced without a cite. I thought of all the porn that references 'Barely Legal!' and the schoolgirl fetish. […] That is a huge part of the porn market and it is mainstream. At some levels internally I just assume that the mid-teen age girl as the ideal sexual object is the norm for men.
Young nasty sluts! Nude teens and busty young sluts! Young Asian sluts! Shoot on my Face .com - Where dirty young sluts get showered with … Watch these two naughty little teen sluts showing off their tight shaved pussies… Teen Cum Dumpsters. Cute teen faces full of cum. Little virgins fucked hard. Petite teenie lesbians in steamy kitchen fucking action. Schoolgirl's First Sex. TAMED TEENS fresh young girls gagged, fucked and cum fed! I still believe that whatever consenting adults choose to do together in the bedroom (or even in public bathrooms) is fine, but I no longer look at porn, because I can’t be sure I’m viewing images of consenting adults, and even if the porn model is an adult, chances are she didn’t begin in the industry as a consenting adult, and “model” is of course a euphemism, because a woman being photographed having sex for money is first and foremost a prostitute, and the all-too-real fact that in the United States the average age of entry into prostitution is just thirteen.
But if we don't look at porn, what's all this got to do with you and me? Well, if you think this isn’t spilling over into mainstream culture, you’re kidding yourself. BBC: Sexualisation 'harms' young girls Try doing a Google search for preteen. If the collective results don’t disturb you, you lack imagination.