The popular image of a scientist is a genial, absent minded fellow. However being bright doesn't mean you are a nice guy.
Richard Dawkins is famously known for his arrogance and superior air.
Marconi's best man for his second wedding was Mussolini!
Thomas Edison was so consumed by the competition between his DC and Tesla's AC, that he publicly electrocuted an elephant, to show the dangerous nature of AC.
But by far the worst scientific arsehole was Geiger, he of the famous Geiger counter. He reported and informed on his Jewish colleagues and sent some to their deaths.
Monday, March 31, 2014
A win!
I think I won a Xtian/ atheist debate yesterday. I was on shaky ground as I really wanted to maintain the relationship and not be seen as disrespectful. (Even though I am!)
Xtian: I think that you can look at the bible and recognise it was made by men, showing norms and prejudices of the time. But leaving a core of truth for us to follow.
Me: I see two problems with that.
1. If you take the very core of Christianity, Christ's words and say, well at least that much is true... (Xtian nods) then you must accept that the entire OT is true and validly part of Xtianity, as Christ said explicitly that he was not here to change even a small amount of the old law.
2. If you start saying, this bit is OK, this bit is not OK, then you have to provide a rational reason (other than I like this bit, not that) for your choices.
Without that, your religion is just an expression of the personal preference of individuals and collectively meaningless.
Silence.
Xtian: I think that you can look at the bible and recognise it was made by men, showing norms and prejudices of the time. But leaving a core of truth for us to follow.
Me: I see two problems with that.
1. If you take the very core of Christianity, Christ's words and say, well at least that much is true... (Xtian nods) then you must accept that the entire OT is true and validly part of Xtianity, as Christ said explicitly that he was not here to change even a small amount of the old law.
2. If you start saying, this bit is OK, this bit is not OK, then you have to provide a rational reason (other than I like this bit, not that) for your choices.
Without that, your religion is just an expression of the personal preference of individuals and collectively meaningless.
Silence.
Honeymoon in Australia!
The fashion for holiday hotspots changes often, Australians have a love affair with Europe but most notably Turkey. However Australia seems to be a place that many people want to visit. Most Americans I have met want to visit, but our most faithful fans are the Japanese. Particularly honeymooning couples and their families. The reason is at least partially economic. The birth of a daughter in that country means the parents have to start saving for the wedding. A Japanese wedding is incredibly expensive, $100k or $200k are unremarkable expenditures.
Some years ago a Japanese soap opera showed two of its stars marrying on a beach in Surfers Paradise (Gold Coast Australia). From then on we were a popular destination. It seems it was cheaper to fly the immediate family and the bridal party here than to pay for the ceremony at home. [I understand that this may be or has already changed. In ceremonies it is becoming more common for people pay a hefty sum to attend the reception.]
There was a disturbing development that arose from this trend, bridal suicides. The bride, having discovered what a pig she married and looking at the social impossibility of divorce and the fact their family has just shelled out a huge sum for the wedding, see no option but to leap from the balcony of their luxury apartment. As a result, a special Japanese speaking hotline has been established and leaflets promoting the service are in every hotel room, hoping to talk these desperate women down from the edge.
Some years ago a Japanese soap opera showed two of its stars marrying on a beach in Surfers Paradise (Gold Coast Australia). From then on we were a popular destination. It seems it was cheaper to fly the immediate family and the bridal party here than to pay for the ceremony at home. [I understand that this may be or has already changed. In ceremonies it is becoming more common for people pay a hefty sum to attend the reception.]
There was a disturbing development that arose from this trend, bridal suicides. The bride, having discovered what a pig she married and looking at the social impossibility of divorce and the fact their family has just shelled out a huge sum for the wedding, see no option but to leap from the balcony of their luxury apartment. As a result, a special Japanese speaking hotline has been established and leaflets promoting the service are in every hotel room, hoping to talk these desperate women down from the edge.
Red Tape
Our current state government, is controlled by a party that roughly translates to the US republican party or the UK conservatives. As many would know these parties like small government and less red tape, but the truth is slightly different.
A few years ago, getting a police report for an accident, was a relatively simple matter, you just asked the cop. Now to get a police report, this is the low government, low red tape solution:
First phone the police station to get an incident report number. Then get a form from one government office that controls FOI requests. Then once you have a response from them granting you permission to access the documents, you get a form from another government department, charged with the dissemination of the documents, having filled out that form, they will probably give them to you.
It reminds me of booking a train ticket in India. First you queue to get the reservation, then you queue to pay and then, receipt in hand, you cue for your ticket.
A few years ago, getting a police report for an accident, was a relatively simple matter, you just asked the cop. Now to get a police report, this is the low government, low red tape solution:
First phone the police station to get an incident report number. Then get a form from one government office that controls FOI requests. Then once you have a response from them granting you permission to access the documents, you get a form from another government department, charged with the dissemination of the documents, having filled out that form, they will probably give them to you.
It reminds me of booking a train ticket in India. First you queue to get the reservation, then you queue to pay and then, receipt in hand, you cue for your ticket.
Old Crows
Going to my car after a hospital visit, there were a few crows making noise. Right next to them is a middle aged man pushing an elderly woman and they were both taunting the crows with their own version of a crow call.
Things that make me laugh. #427
I have an odd sense of humour. Perhaps because I am an Aussie.
I just thought it would be funny if some old bastard jumped on a table in a pub and yelled "Atheists are better at non-Euclidean geometry! I will fight any bishop who calls me a liar!."
I think it was two of the original Stones line up that used to play a prank on London pedestrians by having one of them dressed as a vicar and be strolling harmlessly down a fashionable shopping street. The other would screech up in a Rolls Royce and the two would then commence to brawl to the horror of the passers by. The sight of a vicar of the Church of England beating seven kinds of crap out of a fellow was culturally horrifying.
When I first read this I had tears of laughter, even now I am laughing writing it out.
I just thought it would be funny if some old bastard jumped on a table in a pub and yelled "Atheists are better at non-Euclidean geometry! I will fight any bishop who calls me a liar!."
I think it was two of the original Stones line up that used to play a prank on London pedestrians by having one of them dressed as a vicar and be strolling harmlessly down a fashionable shopping street. The other would screech up in a Rolls Royce and the two would then commence to brawl to the horror of the passers by. The sight of a vicar of the Church of England beating seven kinds of crap out of a fellow was culturally horrifying.
When I first read this I had tears of laughter, even now I am laughing writing it out.
A Tale of Ten Keys
In the early eighties I was a single parent of two (2 and 5yrs) and one of the things I did to keep our little unit functioning was join the Army Reserves. If I was a bit more grown up about it, the time would have been well spent, but that just wasn't me at the time, so I managed (as did a lot of others) to piss off a Warrant Officer.
The rank of WO is a sort of half way house between the lower ranks and the exalted officer levels. WO Boundy was the fellow's name and his image is seared into my memory. There were WOs who were decent, hard working fellows, who would help you understand stuff, more likely to take you to one side and give you some one on one training, than to yell at you for making a mess of something... But this fellow was a bully who got off on his power. We found out he was a security guard and the psychology students guessed he was compensating for his low social status and jealous of all of these 'smarter than he was' uni students.
Our commanding officer's main fault was that he was a bit vain and I decided to use that as a lever to get me away from Boundy and into a cushier job. At the time I still considered myself as a professional photographer and the CO had a habit of approaching grunts like me and asking "What would you like to achieve in the unit?". This was common knowledge, so I prepared my answer well ahead of time.
"Well, sir, my short term aim is to convince you that you need a regimental photographer and that I, am the best soldier for that job". It worked. The next camp, I was taken from my company, assigned nominally to the intelligence unit and had a brief to photograph every soldier (especially the CO) doing what we did.
I modified a rifle case to contain my cameras and other gear and put a nice solid lock on it to secure my stuff. QUR wasn't going to indemnify me of any losses! The keys for the case were kept on a string of communications cord around my neck. On the first day Boundy jumped on me for not being where the rest of the diggers were and he was stunned to be told, that I now reported directly to the CO and "I have my orders sir."
He was livid. He couldn't go talk to the CO directly, but I could. He was going to get me somehow.
On the first day of camp I was having a shower when he came into the room and stole my keys. (I will prove this later in the story) Consequently I had to break into my new box to get to my gear and then keep it in the guardhouse for 24hr protection. It was quite inconvenient. And he pinched my house and car keys with them! I had another 14 days to work out how I would replace them all and so beyond inconvenience, it wasn't a disaster.
On the second last day I got a lift back to HQ and commandeered a room to develop the pics. They proved to be as good as I hoped and I had a shot of all 500 or so soldiers doing exciting things. Photographs they could never get otherwise. I knew I was going to be able to sell them all and prove my worth to the CO as well as making a sizeable donation to regimental funds. (R funds were used for present and future soldier welfare matters, helping them when they fall on hard times). So I felt pretty good about my contribution to the unit.
Years later I had a knock on the door from a different WO from a regular unit, asking if they could have my negs to decorate some recruiting drive!
My next little ego boost was that I was to be on camp when my first exam results were released. I called my mother to read out my results and they were better than I could have dreamed. I had to have her read them three times before I believed they were correct. I got another lift back to the camp, to present the CO with his copies and then I re-join intelligence soldiers so I could formally finish the camp with a parade.
At this point, despite feeling very good about myself I was exhausted. I had worked in the darkroom for 16 hours straight and had no sleep for 23 hours. I was with my group sitting on the grass waiting for the bus to take us back to HQ, when I saw Boundy approach. He had my keys in his hand, and was swinging them around on the comms cord. When he asked the group if anyone had lost a set of keys, I kept quiet. I just didn't want to speak to the arsehole. He asked again. louder. I ignored him even harder. Then he walked right up to me and asked me if they were mine.
He could only know they were mine because he stole them from me! I stood up and this exchange ensued:
Boundy: You are a failure aren't you private Hannah?
Me: No sir I am not.
Boundy: I say you are a failure. Me: I can't agree with you sir.
Boundy: If I say you are a failure, you are a failure private!
Me: I can't agree with that either sir. I have just presented 500 great photographs to the CO, and when my fellow soldiers see them, they will love them sir. Further, my trip to HQ got me my exam results and I can see now, my future is bright. On that basis, I cannot see how any objective assessment could find me a failure, sir.
Boundy: When we get back, you might find yourself on a charge.
Me: Would that be in front of the CO who is at this moment looking at all the great photographs I took for him?
Boundy: Watch your step soldier.
Me: Very well sir. He dropped the keys at my feet and left. If my comrades could have cheered, they would have. Every picture was sold.
The rank of WO is a sort of half way house between the lower ranks and the exalted officer levels. WO Boundy was the fellow's name and his image is seared into my memory. There were WOs who were decent, hard working fellows, who would help you understand stuff, more likely to take you to one side and give you some one on one training, than to yell at you for making a mess of something... But this fellow was a bully who got off on his power. We found out he was a security guard and the psychology students guessed he was compensating for his low social status and jealous of all of these 'smarter than he was' uni students.
Our commanding officer's main fault was that he was a bit vain and I decided to use that as a lever to get me away from Boundy and into a cushier job. At the time I still considered myself as a professional photographer and the CO had a habit of approaching grunts like me and asking "What would you like to achieve in the unit?". This was common knowledge, so I prepared my answer well ahead of time.
"Well, sir, my short term aim is to convince you that you need a regimental photographer and that I, am the best soldier for that job". It worked. The next camp, I was taken from my company, assigned nominally to the intelligence unit and had a brief to photograph every soldier (especially the CO) doing what we did.
I modified a rifle case to contain my cameras and other gear and put a nice solid lock on it to secure my stuff. QUR wasn't going to indemnify me of any losses! The keys for the case were kept on a string of communications cord around my neck. On the first day Boundy jumped on me for not being where the rest of the diggers were and he was stunned to be told, that I now reported directly to the CO and "I have my orders sir."
He was livid. He couldn't go talk to the CO directly, but I could. He was going to get me somehow.
On the first day of camp I was having a shower when he came into the room and stole my keys. (I will prove this later in the story) Consequently I had to break into my new box to get to my gear and then keep it in the guardhouse for 24hr protection. It was quite inconvenient. And he pinched my house and car keys with them! I had another 14 days to work out how I would replace them all and so beyond inconvenience, it wasn't a disaster.
On the second last day I got a lift back to HQ and commandeered a room to develop the pics. They proved to be as good as I hoped and I had a shot of all 500 or so soldiers doing exciting things. Photographs they could never get otherwise. I knew I was going to be able to sell them all and prove my worth to the CO as well as making a sizeable donation to regimental funds. (R funds were used for present and future soldier welfare matters, helping them when they fall on hard times). So I felt pretty good about my contribution to the unit.
Years later I had a knock on the door from a different WO from a regular unit, asking if they could have my negs to decorate some recruiting drive!
My next little ego boost was that I was to be on camp when my first exam results were released. I called my mother to read out my results and they were better than I could have dreamed. I had to have her read them three times before I believed they were correct. I got another lift back to the camp, to present the CO with his copies and then I re-join intelligence soldiers so I could formally finish the camp with a parade.
At this point, despite feeling very good about myself I was exhausted. I had worked in the darkroom for 16 hours straight and had no sleep for 23 hours. I was with my group sitting on the grass waiting for the bus to take us back to HQ, when I saw Boundy approach. He had my keys in his hand, and was swinging them around on the comms cord. When he asked the group if anyone had lost a set of keys, I kept quiet. I just didn't want to speak to the arsehole. He asked again. louder. I ignored him even harder. Then he walked right up to me and asked me if they were mine.
He could only know they were mine because he stole them from me! I stood up and this exchange ensued:
Boundy: You are a failure aren't you private Hannah?
Me: No sir I am not.
Boundy: I say you are a failure. Me: I can't agree with you sir.
Boundy: If I say you are a failure, you are a failure private!
Me: I can't agree with that either sir. I have just presented 500 great photographs to the CO, and when my fellow soldiers see them, they will love them sir. Further, my trip to HQ got me my exam results and I can see now, my future is bright. On that basis, I cannot see how any objective assessment could find me a failure, sir.
Boundy: When we get back, you might find yourself on a charge.
Me: Would that be in front of the CO who is at this moment looking at all the great photographs I took for him?
Boundy: Watch your step soldier.
Me: Very well sir. He dropped the keys at my feet and left. If my comrades could have cheered, they would have. Every picture was sold.
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