The Pimply Teenager Holding the Joystick Made Me Post This

The New York Times Science Section freaked my shit OUT by reporting that "our universe might be somebody else’s hobby."

Apparently, there's a 20 percent chance that "the omniscient, omnipotent creator of the heavens and earth could be an advanced version of a guy who spends his weekends building model railroads or overseeing video-game worlds like the Sims."

A couple of interest excerpts:

"Your first impulse might be to say nothing matters anymore because nothing’s real. But just because your neural circuits are made of silicon (or whatever posthumans would use in their computers) instead of carbon doesn’t mean your feelings are any less real. . . "

"[The] simulation hypothesis isn’t a cause for skepticism, but simply a different metaphysical explanation of our world. Whatever you’re touching now — a sheet of paper, a keyboard, a coffee mug — is real to you even if it’s created on a computer circuit rather than fashioned out of wood, plastic or clay. . . . "

"You still have the desire to live as long as you can in this virtual world — and in any simulated afterlife that the designer of this world might bestow on you. Maybe that means following traditional moral principles, if you think the posthuman designer shares those morals and would reward you for being a good person."

"Or maybe . . . you should try to be as interesting as possible, on the theory that the designer is more likely to keep you around for the next simulation. . . . Of course, it’s tough to guess what the designer would be like. He or she might have a body made of flesh or plastic, but the designer might also be a virtual being living inside the computer of a still more advanced form of intelligence. There could be layer upon layer of simulations until you finally reached the architect of the first simulation — the Prime Designer. . . ."

So, there you go. Excuse me while I sign up for tap dancing lessons.

Think about it. How is your concept of a "god" or "higher power" any different that that of a "Prime Designer"? Does it matter if "he" is made out of plastic and circuitry rather than.... wait a minute... what do you think your god is made out of now?

Anyway, if you want to have an intelligent discussion about it, let me know. Such discussion would not entail, as it did with ONE friend, a constant repetition of "I KNOW I am not a computer simulation. I just KNOW it, in my soul, and because I have a soul, I KNOW god is real." "Dude," I said, "how is he any less REAL if he's a pimply teenager with a joystick instead of whatever you think he's made out of now????" The response was only "I KNOW," along with a pissed-off look at me for calling him "dude."

This, of course, is the famous "I'M REAL" philosophical argument for a non-computer-generated existence, made famous by Kurt Russell as Dr. Curtis McCabe in the highly-under-rated film, Vanilla Sky.

DR. McCABE: "I'm real. I'M REAL. I'm ... I'm ...

Mortality as HOME ENTERTAINMENT???

This can NOT be the FUTURE! Can it? CAN IT?!)

Yes, Dr. McCabe. It can.

Read it HERE. And freak YOUR shit out.

"Our Lives, Controlled From Some Guy’s Couch"

By John Tierney, NY Times, 8/14/07

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/14/science/14tier.html?_r=2&8dpc=&oref=slogin&pagewanted=all&oref=slogin#

AND MORE AT:
http://www.simulation-argument.com/

Ansel Adams

My favorite photo from the exhibit at The Corcoran.

Ron's Diaper Article

Here's an article by my friend Ron. It sounds funny to say "Ron's Diaper article," with all of the implications that may have, but anyway, there it is. In the title line. The article is quite good and was picked up by the AP!!
Note: You can click on the baby to BUY a green baby lamp! (in no way related to this article. Of course.)

Green Babies
by Ron Cassie

The environmental movement is getting younger everyday. A lot younger. Think babies.

A steadily growing number of infants and toddlers have switched to "green" diapers.

This generation's earth conscious parents can leave behind the old cloth vs. disposable debate.

It's been settled. Biodegradable, chlorine and perfume-free, suitable for composting, flushable gDiapers won.

They've earned the thumbs up from the National Resource Defense Council.

"They require a little more work (the biodegradable wood cloth lining is flushed; the middle lining and outside lining are reusable and can be washed when necessary), but sales are definitely up," said Tali Mozer, a buyer at The Common Market in Frederick.

Annually, according to reports, 20 billion disposable diapers in the U.S. hit landfills everyday. Once there, they take 500 years to decompose.

The Portland, Oregon based gDiapers are also just the latest in a mix of hi- and lo-tech innovations, responding to the budding green parenting revolution.

At The Common Market and also the new MOM's, My Organic Market, which has five Maryland stores, there's organic baby food, milk, cereal without high-processed sugar, organic children's lunch snacks, like baked corn puffs, and all kinds of local organic fruits, vegetables and chicken for the whole family.

Parents can now pick greener clothing and toys for their children as well. Yiro, a children's organic clothing and accessories boutique, opened in 2004 on P Street in Georgetown in Washington and last month they added a toy store on Wisconsin Avenue.

The eco-friendly gDiapers have been around for more than 15 years in Tanzania and Australia. Kim Graham-Nye and her husband, Jason, founded gDiapers.

I want a shiny blue jumpsuit.

I'm sure we'll be sick of this song in a month, but it is my happy fluffy dream to be in this dance in a shiny blue jumpsuit.

Every day is this day for Aengus

It's talk like a pirate day!!!

http://www.talklikeapirate.com/piratehome.html

HI!!!!!!

Police State

Remember our lovely time at The Tides? And our lovely time at Cannon Beach? And our lovely time at Cannon Beach Spa?

Remember how excited I was to find the Ten Thousand Waves Hinoki lotion at the Cannon Beach Spa and how we slathered it all over ourselves and how we smelled like fresh pine needles on a snowy winter's day?

Well, the lotion has to remain in the "thanks for the memories" category. When I went through airport security at PDX, the TSA Gestappo selected me for extra security, like they always do because I am a government employee on official government travel and we are not to be trusted. So, the T"SS"A Officer digs through my bags and finds nary a fingernail clipper when, suddenly, he reaches up from the bottom of the last, small bag and reveals a GIANT bottle of the Hinoki Ten Thousand Waves lotion. Clearly, it is not three ounces or less; it is a contrabandish 12 ounce. Worse, it is not in a plastic bag.

He looks at me, triumphant.

I know where this is headed.

Hinoki in the trash.

I try to explain that the lotion is special. That it reminds me of cedarwood saunas and snow on the ..... NEVERMIND. It doesn't matter. Mr. TSpanishInquisitionA looks at me blankly, holding the lotion like it's a bag of black tar heroin in a douchebag. I begin to tear up. Big, globby tears. I am tired. I understand that it is futile to fight.

Still, I try several maneuvers:

May I leave it here for a friend? "Only if you call her and she comes to get it now."
May I mail it to myself at that kiosk over there? "Lotion won't fit in the mail kiosk slot."
May I give it to one of the gestappohitleryouthTSAinquisition gals in their penny bright polyester TSA uniforms so that if they cannot be stylish they can at least smell good?
"No. They cannot use it because we do not know what's in it."

They do not know what's in it? They don't know what's in it????? The hell?

It's yummy lotion from New Mexico that reminds me of happy days lounging naked at 10,000 waves beneath the cedar trees, feeling the cool Santa Fe mountain winds against my packy. What else would it be, dipshit? Really now. What else would it be?

May I find three smaller containers and then sit here and jizz the lotion into the three smaller containers and THEN put all three separate containers into that very same bag and take the unknown substance on board with me? "Yes," he drones.

YES????

"Yes."

I look quickly in the sundries shop for travel bottles. None. I look everywhere. I look in recycling bins. I look in the bar. For the ever-elusive three-ounce container. I finally decide that the only things I could possibly use are the condiment cups at the hotdog kiosk. You know: the little round plastic ones, like they have at MickeyD's (I don't eat at McDonalds. There's poo in the hamburgers). I figure that 12 of these suckers should adequately store the lotion. I'm about to rush back to Mr. F-wannaB-I when I realize how friggin' stupid it is.

IT IS SO FRIGGIN STUPID.

I go back to the security station. At this point, they should seriously keep me off any plane. Only someone who truly is carrying some blow-'em-up liquid is going to run around the airport searching recycling bins for three-ounce containers. But that's besides the point. TSA knows its job: "It does not put the lotion in the basket on the plane."

I ask if I can have one more squirt of the lotion.

"Yes, as long as I hold it and squirt it." Mr. TSA says. [It does not touch the lotion]

This is not what I want to hear from Mr. RiotGear. Hold It and Squirt It?

I look around for the lotion. Nowhere to be seen. Already in the trash, I assume. UNTIL, that is, I notice that a fat little Lord of the Rings TSA Agent is sniffing it and holding it and ..... GOOD LORD...

"What IS HE DOING???" I shriek.

"I was throwing it out," he says meekly.

"You were using it!!!" I say, incredulously. He was using it!!!

The indignity of it all.

At that point, I left. Lotionless. A shrivled up apple doll by the time I reach DC.

But that's not important. I'm sure everyone else on the plane felt more secure.

Hmmmm.

PRETTY!!!!!

Tech Support!!!!

I am not freakin' Ian McKellen!!!
But I'm real.
I'm real.

You're PRETTY