Pues que creen, estoy de nuevo en exámenes pero esta vez son parciales finales, así que estoy dando de si para aguantar estos últimos días de clase para después entregarme a la juerga de las vacaciones y disfrutar de mis días libres lejos del tormento universitario, estás ultimas semanas he estado sintiendo un agotamiento terrible y muchas veces ni ganas de levantarme me dan, por esa razón mi post sobre 2012 (la cual fui a ver la semana pasada) se ha retrasado hasta ahora. Y bueno, después del disclaimer innecesario, por fin el escrito:

No soy fan de las películas de desastres naturales, de hecho saber que unos cabrones se los carga la chingada un terremoto, un volcán, el calentamiento global o como en el caso de 2012, el movimiento de las placas terrestres como consecuencia del calentamiento del núcleo terráqueo, me da un poquito de hueva. Prácticamente todas estas películas están condenadas a seguir un patrón predecible: Protagonistas que de repente tienen una intervención sentimental pendeja durante el transcurso de la película, un güey cagado que tendrá el rol cómico y que (esto opcionalmente) saldrá con el chiste/situación de risa para luego morir patéticamente, una vieja súper buena haciéndose pasar por la novia/esposa mártir y que para variar hará exactamente lo contrario de lo que le digan, el pobre intento de personaje badass que puede morir durante algún momento crucial en la película, el clásico personaje que descubre todo y que al principio nadie le cree y después todo mundo dice “tal y como él lo había dicho” (no siempre pero, por lo general ese es el protagonista de la cinta), las escenas donde la región/país/planeta-entero se va a la verga de manera espectacular, el momento “no lo va a lograr” y un final feliz a veces con sabor desagradable a moraleja.

No obstante, esta extraña morbosidad de las personas por crear películas donde la humanidad es arrasada de maneras terribles y la un más morbosa gente que acude al cine para verlas, son cosas que está inherentemente en nosotros, no sé el porqué ni me importa lo único que sé es que aunque me da mucha flojera comenzar a verlas, al final al igual que a todos, me atrapa la morbosidad y me quedo hasta el final para terminar diciendo “naaa estuvo bien chafa” pero, la verdad es que las cintas de desastres son bien divertidas, hasta ahora no he visto ninguna que realmente acabe con un final tan devastador como cuando está todo el pedo de la destrucción; es decir, alguna donde para varia no haya un final feliz pero casi todas sufren de esto y no queda más que disfrutar de los momentos “¡no mames!” (Léase con tono de asombro).

2012 está llena de momentos similares a los descritos anteriormente, osea que aunque está llena de cliches y participaciones que nunca recordaras (pobre Danny Glober, antes salía con Mel Gibson y le pateaba el trasero al Depredador, ahora es la triste interpretación de un presidente negro) es una película que cumple con el objetivo de divertir y de cagarte con los efectos especiales, personalmente adoré la parte en que California se desmorona como polvorón en leche tibia, creo que es la mejor parte de la cinta. La historia está basada en una, apenas mencionada, predicción Maya y sobre una teoría que involucra muchos factores de la creencia popular como la alineación de los planetas y fenómenos relacionados con el solsticio de invierno. La verdad la historia es una zurrada, las actuaciones también apestan y lo del proyecto para salvar a lo que queda de la humanidad fue un concepto que pudo ser mejor explotado, pero si te sobran unos $50 y estas harto de ver los pendejos promos de la secuela pedorra del estúpido fenómeno Twilight, entonces aprovecha, al final te sentirás estafado pero la idea de saber que el 2012 está a la vuelta de la esquina rondará un par de veces por tu cabeza y te preguntarás si son solo supersticiones o algo probable (después lo olvidaras y seguirá valiéndote verga como al resto de la gente normal).

Wild Bill notes that many speakers, including academics, like the phrase “undermine the very fabric of our society,” and he asks how fabric can be undermined.

I am listening to and watching (not really) a U.S. evening cable-TV pundit-show, and so far I’ve heard the following phrases and terms, some of which qualify as clichés (and please note that these phrases and terms appear immediately after they have been uttered during just one show, and please note that the political persuasion of the show really doesn’t matter):

1. “Draw a line in the sand.” I suspect this weary metaphor is supposed to suggest something like an ultimatum. But really, if one draws a line in the sand, the wind or water will likely erase it soon.

2. “The public option.” Why is health-care for the public an “option”? This question must have occurred to observers not from the U.S.

3. “Moves the ball an inch forward.” A familiar politics-as-American-football metaphor, although I guess it could also refer to rugby. Ironically, although it involves a small unit of measurement, it is hopelessly imprecise when applied, for example, to health-care reform.

4. “Americans voted for change.” Indeed. With the economy the way it has been, we could hardly have voted for more than (pocket) change. Nyuck, nyuck.

5. “Executing on their game-plan.” More sports. Why the “on”? And how lovely that it’s a game.

6. “The log-jam is so bad.” I’ve actually looked at fir-tree logs floating in the Puget Sound, where they “wait” to be moved to a pulp-plant. A log-jam in this instance is a good thing. It means all the logs are together.

7. [A commercial advertisement during the show says that a car-making corporation "speaks car." I presume the company can imitate the sounds of engines and horns. I am happy for them.]

8. “Out-sourcing.” I’m too exasperated with this term to analyze it. I offer it up to you.

9. “I have indicated . . . .” George Carlin didn’t like this word, especially as uttered by politicians, I think because he thought it was pretentious, and it may well be. It doesn’t bother me because I think of it as suggesting the index-finger–and pointing. But, as they say, it was and is dangerous to disagree with Samuel Johnson–and with Carlin.

10. “Multi-pronged deliberative process.” So . . . the process looks like a fork. If so, I’m worried.

11. “Support the troops.” Tax-payers support the troops indirectly. People entertain the troops and buy food for the troops’ families back home. So there are direct means of supporting troops. But most deployers of the term are just gas-bagging, to use something of a cliché.

Don’t expect a man to come to the rescue of his wife if she should fall ill in a peat bog:

Thanks to Yahoo! Shine for the Laugh o’ the Day.

Fringe: Season 2: Episode 8: “August”

The restaurant runs out of chili peppers.

There’s more than one of everything – even Observers! This episode was refreshingly easy to watch.

This episode is debunked at Popular Mechanics and Polite Dissent, and you can read more about it at Fox, IMDb and the A.V. Club.

Random thoughts

That would have to be one of the most expensive security cameras in the world to be able to show the flight of a bullet. We can have a think about what would actually be required with a back-of-the-envelope calculation:

At the slower end, a handgun bullet might travel at 300 m s^-1 (just under the speed of sound), and the horizontal distance covered by the camera when Astrid was clicking through video frames was about a metre (based on the size of August’s arm). The bullet travelled about 60 % of the distance, or 0.6 m, in three frames and so we can conclude that each frame lasted for about 0.00067 s, which is 1500 frames per second. By way of comparison, video cameras generally capture around 30 fps.

Once again we can see some old-school communication equipment; this time a dot matrix printer. I posit (Walterism) that communication between the two worlds is only possible with equipment that existed before the event that caused them to diverge. It therefore looks like the two timelines separated in the 1980s, right when Walter was retrieving Peter.

This is bordering on the obsessive, but if Flight 821 went down two hours out of Rome then it could not have been off the Italian coast and was probably not in the Atlantic Ocean. Either it was two hours away and in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Spain or Portugal (or possibly France), or it was in the Mediterranean Sea (or even the Tyrrhenian Sea – technically these are within the Atlantic Ocean, but they are always referred to by their localised names) and closer than two hours to Rome.

The photographs and paintings of The Observer at key points in history reminded me a little of James in 12 Monkeys (he’s shown in a WWI trench). Perhaps it’s also how J. Robert Oppenheimer got the idea for his hat.

As is fairly common knowledge, screw-on silencers (or, more correctly, suppressors) do not “silence” bullets very much at all.

The Lewis Code

We are treated to another chemistry-inspired code this week, this time to do with the Lewis structure of atoms. However, like the code in Earthling it’s pretty much impossible to decipher.

Different atoms have different numbers of electrons, and this is one of the ways we can tell different atoms apart (it’s called the atomic number). However, the Lewis bonding model is all about electrons in the outer shell of an atom (the valence electrons), which are not so unique. Each atom in a group (a vertical column in the periodic table) has the same number of valence electrons as the other atoms in the group – this is one of the reasons why those atoms have similar properties. This means that for every dot diagram that Walter noted, there would be at least four elements that it could match (and possibly six, depending on the group in question).

Walter's Lewis structure code.

Firstly, Astrid’s code-cracking program would have picked up on some of the repeated symbols – for example, “7″, “As” and “N” are the same. Secondly, the numbers in the address do not seem to correspond to the number of electrons. It seems to be (number of electrons)+2 except in the case of “2″, though how Walter would know this is beyond me (perhaps there isn’t a 2536 Hastings). Thirdly, as I mentioned above, each symbol can represent different atoms (this is illustrated in the code with “As”/”N” and “Ti”/”Ge”). Walter would have found the address with a lot of trial and error, and could easily have gone to the wrong place – for example, by taking other elements in the same groups, we could make vaguely plausible names like “Kassipsis” (K-As-Si-P-Si-S).

A less ambiguous code?

On top of all that, titanium (Ti) is a transition metal and has partially filled d-orbitals. We do not normally describe transition elements using Lewis structures, as they tend to break the rules – this is one of the reasons why the Lewis model is not used very much in modern chemistry. Titanium does have four valence electrons, but it would be unlikely to come to mind from a Lewis four-electron diagram (though perhaps Walter thinks in unconventional ways).

In order to make the code clearer, there would have to be some method of either identifying the correct period (row), or identifying the number of electron sub-shells underneath the valence shell (though of course this would also make it easier for someone else to decipher). I propose a second symbol (inside the large circle) to identify the electron shell that is being filled, and more dots to identify the correct period. Thus an empty circle would be interpreted as a number, a second circle (s-orbital) as groups I and II, a looped cross (d-orbital) as groups III-XII and a figure of eight (p-orbital) as groups XIII-XVII. The code would then look like the second diagram on the left – more complex but unambiguous.

For background information on this topic, see the primer on atomic structure.

Beautiful face
That like a daisy opens its petals to the sun
So do you
Open your face to me as I turn the page.

Enchanting smile
Any man would be under your spell,
Oh, beauty of a magazine.

How many poems have been written to you?
How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice?
To your obsessive illusion
To you manufacture fantasy.

But today I won’t make one more Cliché
And write this poem to you.
No, no more clichés.

This poem is dedicated to those women
Whose beauty is in their charm,
In their intelligence,
In their character,
Not on their fabricated looks.

This poem is to you women,
That like a Shahrazade wake up
Everyday with a new story to tell,
A story that sings for change
That hopes for battles:
Battles for the love of the united flesh
Battles for passions aroused by a new day
Battle for the neglected rights
Or just battles to survive one more night.

Yes, to you women in a world of pain
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights
To you, friend of my heart.

From now on, my head won’t look down to a magazine
Rather, it will contemplate the night
And its bright stars,
And so, no more clichés.

The biggest thrills I’ve ever sought
were in the imparting of information
the quest to become an expert
my minds a whore
legs open to everything
ejaculating questions
fuck answers
answers are for scientists

The biggest thrills I’ve ever received
were the moments where
everything clicks
where a definition
sends me on a cascade
that questions everything
changes my writing
wipes my brain clean

It always comes
right at that moment
when I feel I’m drowning
in contradictions, cliches
water metaphors
the inescapable
the… “deep unknown”
or something equally as contrived and sad

a theory ripples in the far off edges of my mind
moves towards me
grows, swells
overtakes me
my lungs fill up
coughed up
water on the brain
I struggle
kicking
holding my breath
attempting to reconcile my beliefs

But, I surface again
I’ve been carried closer to the strand
I lie back
float in the sweet embrace of structure and theory
catch my breath
categorizing
mesmerized by the circling sharks
I sleep
content in this cliche,
with the academic high,
cheap thrill

Just a question for all you out there.

I read many mystery/thriller novels and one of the usual cliches is the police antagonism toward anybody bringing down dirty cops. Now, naive person that I am, I would think that as with most professions, you would welcome people cleaning out the bad apples, the ones that give the profession a bad name.

Is this just a fictional trope or does it describe a reality? Because if it does, what kind of people are we giving power to?

I sometimes feel like I am a better person than him. I’m walking to the store to get some Halloween candy, my hair is wet, I’m wearing sweat pants, my coat is ripped, I spent the day in bed and still I am a better person than he ever will be, because I actually give a shit about people. I know T. cares, in a way, but it’s never quite right, is it? It’s like he doesn’t want to feel anything real, because it is simply too hard, so he always finds a way to sabotage his life and in the end prove himself right. It’s a kind of caring that never translates into action and what are we if not our actions? It’s not all, but it counts for a whole lot and I’m not sure I like people who don’t see that.

I have been acting that way, cerebral, always stuck in my own head and in my own feelings, but I feel it changing now. It can’t always be about him. The fact is, that I think about him less and less and when I do think of him, it’s not as poignant as it once was. Were he to tell me again that we were through, I don’t think the prospect would bother me as much. In fact, the thought of him fucking someone else barely creates a ripple in my mind and the thought of him loving someone else, hurts only in the capacity of his inability to love me.

If I’m honest with myself, the facts point to a person I do not care to know. Can I be sure of any of this? Is my mind creating these thoughts in an attempt to protect me from further hurt or has what others have been saying finally begun to sink in? And does the difference really matter? 

Maybe it doesn’t. Not if it makes me happier and even if it feels like going back on a promise. A promise to always be there and to always love him. There has to be situations where it’s OK to change your mind and maybe this is one of those. As L. says, if it’s meant to be it will be, but that feels like a tired cliche. 

I wanted to hear sweet words

slip between your teeth

while your eyes would

convey this mixed message

of a sick love you have for me

however i need to hear

sticky little post-it

rhymes

to slither into your vocabulary

just so that I can get my fill

of those corny cliches

i love so dearly

A Nightmare on Elm Street is a 1984 American horror film directed and written by Wes Craven, and the first film of the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. The film features John Saxon, Heather Langenkamp, Ronee Blakley, Amanda Wyss, Jsu Garcia, Robert Englund and Johnny Depp in his feature film debut. Set in the fictional Midwestern town of Springwood, Ohio, the plot revolves around several teenagers being terrorized in their nightmares by the ghost of a serial child murderer named Fred Krueger.

Craven produced A Nightmare on Elm Street on an estimated budget of just $1.8 million, a sum the film earned back during its first week. Grossing $25.5 million at the United States box office, A Nightmare on Elm Street has become one of the most popular entries in the horror genre and the film’s villain, Fred Krueger, has become one of the most well recognized villains in cinema history. Both critics and Craven have mentioned that the film owes some of its success to John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978), which was very influential in spawning a long line of slasher films and originating many clichés found in low-budget horror films of the 1980s and 1990s.

The film’s premise is the question of the distinction between dreams and reality. The villain, Fred Krueger, exists in the “dream world” yet can kill in the “real world”. Sequels to the original would continue to confuse dreams and reality, before finally confusing art and reality by showing Heather Langenkamp, playing a fictionalized version of herself, haunted by the villain of a series of films in which she has had a major part in reality. Critics praised the film’s ability to transgress “the boundaries between the imaginary and real”, toying with audience perceptions. Some movie historians interpreted this overriding theme as a social subtext, “the struggles of adolescents in American society”, and their overwhelming need to confront “the harsh realities of life”.

Rewind, mardi 10/11, 20h j’arrive au Conrad Hotel: surprise, un monde fou devant la Young Gallery. Mon premier vernissage bruxellaire, certes Nick Brandt est une star. Ok, me “fraye” un chemin dans la galerie bondée: “Escusez-moi, vous vous occupez de la presse?“. Et je me retrouve nez à nez avec l’objectif de la photographe du vernissage. Souris, rattrape au vol un membre de la galerie: “Heu non, je souhaiterai interviewer le photographe“, “Oh il doit être quelque part par là, il a une veste avec une inscription au dos“. Humm Mwoui… “Et il ressemble?“, “Ma taille, pas très grand“, “Merci!“. Perplexe. Amusée, j’interroge du regard la foule telle un GPS virtuel en littuanien: comment localiser dans cette masse mouvante une inscription au dos d’une veste? Les photos sont superbes (suis fane des éléphants), la galerie très agréable, j’oublie vite interview et GPS littuanien, pour ces snapshots!

Young Gallery: Avenue Louise 75b – Wiltcher’s place – Conrad Hotel – 1050 Bruxelles – Belgique

Autres articles:

Young Gallery à Knokke: Expo photo de Josef Hoflehner

Anvers: Exposition “Paper Fashion” au MoMu, le Musée de la Mode

Paris: exposition photo “Koyasan” de Yoshimitsu Nagasaka

We all know the cliche that you have to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince, which isn’t difficult, considering the inordinate number of frogs out there.  Case in point – the guy my friend Ang was recently matched with on eHarmony, who had three strikes against him before their first phone conversation was over.

Strike one was the guy’s inability to form a sentence without using at least one obscenity, which even Ang, with her fairly wide un-PC streak, found offensive.  “It’s not like I have a problem with cursing.  I can have a mouth like a sailor, but there’s a time and a place for it,” Ang said as she was telling me the story.  “And the first phone conversation with a potential date, when you should be trying to make a good impression on someone, is not the time or place.  Hearing him say ‘I don’t want you think I’m a fucking pussy for having a Diana Ross song on my iPod’ is not exactly going to make me swoon.”

Strike two was his method of trying to impress Ang – by bragging about how much money he makes as a recording engineer in New York City.  “He told me that he makes like, $10,000 to $20,000 a month,” Ang said.  “Now, I don’t know much about the recording business, but I found that a little suspect, and even if it’s true, he just threw it out there without me even asking, like it would win me over.  I don’t care how much money you make, buddy, just don’t be an asshole and brag about it.”

Strike three was his own, voluntary admittance that he is, in fact, an asshole.  “He was like, there’s a reason why I’m where I am (career-wise),” Ang said.  “You just have to be an asshole.”

And yer out! When a guy is voluntarily and proudly calling himself an asshole, what is a girl to do?  (I like to think that I would have said something like, “Well, thanks for telling me, because I don’t date assholes, so I guess we’re done here,” and hung up, but I’m usually not that quick on my feet.)  To Ang’s credit, she closed the match immediately after the phone call ended, and thanked her lucky stars for dodging that bullet.

Luckily, Ang had a date that weekend with another eHarmony match who was great in every way – except that he was gay.  Not happy gay, but gay as in likes having sex with other men.  Which is a problem, being that Ang is, you know, a woman.

He wasn’t gay by his own admission, obviously, but, according to Ang, there was some pretty strong evidence that he was a disco-dancing, Oscar Wilde-reading, Streisand-ticket-holding friend of Dorothy (quick, name that movie!):

- He told Ang her jacket was “fabulous.”
- He likes “Sex and the City.”
- He was wearing a scarf, not because it was cold, but as an accessory.
- He squealed and cooed over a little dog walking in Central Park.
- His gestures and mannerisms were generally rather effeminate.

So ok, in fairness, perhaps he was just an extremely metrosexual guy, or maybe I’m just very judgemental.  But in this day and age, unfortunately, any one of those things on their own would have set off most anyone’s gaydar – combined, it would be enough to convince me to haul this guy over to Woody’s and be done with it.

Of course, here is the kicker in all of this: “That was the best date I’ve been on in a long, long time,” Ang said.  “I had such a nice time.  He was a cool guy, very fun to talk to – I could just never, ever date him because I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

I took a breather from rolling around on my bed laughing at this whole situation to gasp, “What you need to do is find a way to mate the gay guy with the asshole, and then you’d have the perfect man!”

“It’s true!” Ang said in the midst of her laughter.  “I want a man who’s a man, you know, who smells like testosterone and can be tough, but who is also smart, someone I can have an intelligent conversation with.  Who isn’t an asshole.  Is that so hard to find?”

Apparently it is, at least if my experiences, and Ang’s, and those of practically all my other female friends are any indication.  I guess that’s why about the cliche about frogs and princes is true – although it doesn’t mention that every once in awhile, you wind up with a frog who’s actually a queen. ; )

A little art project I’ve undertaken.

Today’s language is so fraught with tripe, drivel and political correctness that I’m surprised it’s even possible for us to communicate with each other. There are many words and phrases that are absolutely maddening. Who comes up with this stuff? I’m beginning to think that all of the academic linguists in this country must have gone to a convention and spent 100% of their time in “Uncreative Language” breakout sessions. Here are some examples of the type of gibberish to which I refer.

A teachable moment. What in the devil does this mean? Literally speaking every moment can be teachable in some way, shape or form. Win-win. What is wrong with win-lose? Hot button. In all my years I don’t think I’ve ever seen a button that was hot unless someone applied a blowtorch to it. Have a nice day. How about have a “puke on your shoes” day? To be perfectly honest. So, let me get this straight. Everything else you’ve been saying is a lie? Think outside the box. What box? I can think inside a box as well as outside a box. Undocumented immigrants. They are actually called illegal aliens.

African American. What’s wrong with being black? Plus sizes. Let’s call them what they are – fat sizes. Visually impaired. Me thinks it’s just blind. Overseas Contingency Operation. No way. It’s a GLOBAL WAR ON TERROR. Outcast. Black sheep. Oh no! This could be viewed as racist-speak. Out of control. Running around like wild Indians. Developmentally challenged. It’s still the same as being retarded. Seniors (chronologically advantaged). Old people. Utility hole cover. Manhole cover. Really. Nondiscretionary fragrance. Body odor. Chalkboards instead of blackboards . . . once again there is a fear of offending black people.

Had enough? Oh, but it doesn’t work that way. You and I have no choice but to continue to endure the assault on our language. But there is one way to fight back. In the coming weeks if someone wishes you Happy Holidays, reply, “No, it’s MERRY CHRISTMAS!” And by the way. Let’s ixnay that little smiley face thing that people are always putting in their e-mails.

My cars, that is. I really really really mean it. This is a long time coming, I think…

Cars aren’t necessarily expensive!!!

Okay, I was a bit provoked by another comment on a different blog about, once again, cars being too expensive and flash only for impressing other people and therefore a waste of funds.

I read things like that quite often, written by people who aren’t car people. People who don’t understand how some of us who are car people live.

Me, not you.

My cars are for me, not for you…. Seriously. I’m not “wasting” a bunch of money on my cars to “impress” everyone else. I’m not that into everyone… Sheesh.

I’ve built my cars for my enjoyment. Because I like them this way. Because I use them this way.

I couldn’t care less if they impressed one person or one thousand people. Funny enough, my cars manage to impress people as they are… Without me trying to. That’s the best part, I think.

Get the facts straight, maybe?

What irks me, really, is when I get treated like I’m some sort of lucky rich snob who’s never worked for the stuff I have. I’m ticked off because I’m confused as to where people come up with this crap….

Our most expensive car is a 2001 Honda, and she cost us like $16,000. Is that expensive? Really?

My Miata was $5,000, blue book value for her condition at the time of purchase. And in summer, no less! So I was happy with that deal. Our 240SX was $2,000 for my lovely project car… And a chance to build up credit by working with a very manageable car loan.

Or here: Ask!!

I just hate snap judgements, period. I know I do it too, I’m human after all… We’re so used to doing it, which is sad. But I’m working on it, so can everyone else try, too?

But if you have to know, like you just have to know… Ask me. I’m hardly going to get mad over it, because I love talking about my cars.

So how do I do it?

Cars are my priority, pretty much my highest priority after basics.

I’m not rich, I don’t have a ton of disposable income and I have yet to win the lottery or even get an inheritance. I work, I delegate where my money’s best suited to go and I work with it that way.

Spending money on my cars makes me insanely happy. Even if I don’t drive on any particular day, I can look outside and see my darling girls sitting there all pretty. (And just about paid off, too.) I have access to a culture that’s great, and I have so many awesome friends who are into this too. It’s my hobby, really my only hobby that costs me a lot of money…

So please, don’t think I’m rich just because I have three cars. I don’t think I’m better than you because I drive sports cars. Really, unless you claim to be into cars and obviously aren’t, I couldn’t care less about you or your car.

Now, if ya wanna talk cars with me… I am all game. I’m just well sorted out priorities-wise!

The following two websites display a humorous look at the most annoying and common logic flaws and stereotypes found in movies. In other words, here are some lists of common movie cliches. They are really funny if you’ve seen a lot of movies.

http://www.moviecliches.com/

http://www.saviodsilva.org/lists/f9.htm

Enjoy!

If you want to make money online, click here: http://tinyurl.com/yfk7wqj

They say watched pots never boil.  And although it is most applicable as a metaphor, things really do seem to take a longer time to cook when you’re eyeing it.  I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve stirred a pot full of food on an empty stomach and it feeling like it took an eternity to finally be ready.   But this expression got me to thinking about how many other areas in our lives this concept applies to.   And the truth of the matter is that it’s all a matter of perspective.  In all actuality it takes the same amount of time to cook the same meal whether you’re hungry or full but your condition is going to color your perspective greatly and I’d argue that the same is true of relationships.

Why does it seem that the more you want a relationship, the longer it takes to finally come about?  The more you desire companionship, the further away all prospects seem to be?   I’ve come to learn that it’s the same principle as the watched pot, it always boils… eventually, just not as fast as we would have liked.  So what do we coin a new phrase?  Watched relationships never come to fruition.  Only they do, with time, they spring up from even the most deserted fields of singleness.  The seed of it had been hidden so deep underneath the parched surface it was almost impossible to believe it was there.  But it was and it does spring up when you least expect it. 

So what are you waiting for?  Get on with your life.  Enjoy it.  Single life is time you never get back once you take that plunge into the never-ending abyss of love, romance and coupledom.  Stop watching and waiting for life to start once you find a boo and start watering your life with new discoveries of you!  It’s only when you try to run on empty that you’re heightened to the emptiness that’s around you to distract you from the real emptiness that’s with in.

Fringe: Season 2: Episode 6: “Earthling”

The cosmonaut's final journey.

Monsters! From outer space! And Cold War references! Typically poor alien logic aside, this episode was refreshingly easy to watch.

This episode is debunked at Popular Mechanics and Polite Dissent, and you can read more about it at Fox, IMDb and the A.V. Club.

Random thoughts

The “dust” that our victims are turned into appears to be vacuum cleaner lint, which may be why Walter requested a Dust Devil. If a body had indeed been reduced to its “elemental components”, it would be much smaller as the gases (most of the human body being hydrogen and oxygen) would have dispersed.

Once again, the slightest shock will incapacitate women – even professional nurses – by causing uncontrollable screaming.

If the space shadow needed to feed on radiation, it seems odd that it’d go around killing people when it could just go hang out inside an X-ray machine or PET scanner.

The chemical code

At first glance, the formula puzzle that Tomas sent to Broyles all those years ago appears to be some kind of porphyrin. Porphyrins are quite common in nature and biochemistry, one of the better known derivatives being haem B (found in blood). Peter was right in recognising it as a “complex organic compound”, though it’s more strictly an organometallic and the term “molecular model” is generally reserved for 3D representations (either physical or computer-generated).

The puzzle molecule and porphine, a simple porphyrin.

Of course, we don’t know what all the Russian notes and Greek letters mean – though we may speculate that Tomas’s γ key doesn’t work given the use of α, β, “C” and δ to label the pyrrole rings. Also, the molecular diagram as shown in the episode has double bonds between every atom in the α ring – this structure cannot exist, and so I’ve left it out of the diagram above. The Φ should represent a metal of some kind – in haem, this is iron (Fe).

The groups linking the pyrrole rings together are less easy to interpret, as four of them (CHα-, CHHHβ, HHα and HHδH) cannot exist. CHα- and CHHHβ have carbon exceeding its maximum valency (i.e. the atoms have more than four bonds), and HHα and HHδH make no sense (I suspect that HHδH is a typo, and that it should be CHδH – though this still cannot exist). Similarly, the CO₂H groups – normally representing carboxylic acids – cannot exist as drawn.

Moving on to the functional groups, the “M” in CMα and CMδ can be used to represent a metal. However, direct carbon-metal bonds usually form only under very specific conditions and are highly unstable. M may therefore be a reference to another molecule, such as another organometallic.

Finally, the [αβ], [αα], [ββ] and [βα] again make little sense without further information. We can, however, see the Roman numerals I, II, III and IV, which Walter seems to think represent four nucleobase-like molecules. They aren’t the bases that make up human DNA, but they have very similar shapes and so might be considered nucleic acid analogues (and therefore space creature DNA). Later on, Walter starts drawing what look like polysaccharides – large polymeric molecules used for storing energy in living systems.

Walter also mentions titanium tetrachloride (TiCl₄), which is not shown directly in the diagram. Instead, we see a dimeric form of titanium trichloride (Ti₂Cl₆ = 2 x TiCl₃), which can react at high temperature to form TiCl₂ and TiCl₄.

The gigantic molecular model that Walter and Peter build towards the end of their research looks like a small protein, or possibly a Theo Jansen piece. Presumably the linking bond means that human and alien parts are irreversibly entwined – but this should also have been clear from the 2D diagrams.

Grâce à l’infatigable Abie, j’ai regardé tout à l’heure un débat d’Intelligence Squared sur une question à laquelle tout un chacun peut avoir une réponse catégorique, quelle qu’elle soit : le catholicisme est-il une puissance positive ? (“Is catholicism a force for good?”, oui c’est en anglais)

Le débat opposait John Onaiyekan, évêque d’Abuja (capitale du Nigéria) et Anne Widdecombe, membre du Parlement du côté des conservateurs – pro-catholiques – au comédien et auteur Stephen Fry et à l’écrivain Christopher Hitchens – anti-catholiques.

Les cinquante minutes du débat valent la peine d’être écoutées, mais pour résumer : les pro ont vanté les mérites du catholicisme pour l’espoir qu’il offre aux gens simples, dont ces derniers ont besoin, contrairement aux intellectuels dans leur tour d’ivoire, ainsi que le soutien financier important offert aux pays au développement. Les anti ont récapitulé les crimes commis par l’église catholique et les demi-excuses invoquées par cette dernière, sans compter l’attitude malsaine de l’Eglise envers la sexualité et les femmes, ainsi que son avidité et sa volonté d’hégémonie, masquée par un discours d’amour universel.

Après s’être exprimés pendant quelques minutes, les intervenants ont répondu aux questions des spectateurs, dont celle-ci : « Pourquoi une femme peut-elle être membre du Parlement et pas prêtre ? », ce à quoi Anne Widdecombe a répondu sèchement qu’un prêtre était censé représenter le Christ in persona et qu’une femme ne pouvait pas le faire, pas plus qu’un homme ne pouvait représenter la Vierge Marie. Il y a eu quelques rires dans l’audience : oh oui, cela semble stupide, une femme qui fait Jésus…

Mais si on va par là, du pain azyme et de la piquette qui se transforment en chair et en sang d’un type mort il y a plus de deux mille ans, c’est stupide aussi, non ? Le christianisme a recours au symbolisme ; il rappelle, chaque jour lors de la messe, un sacrifice humain qui a eu lieu une fois et n’a pas besoin d’être répété. Refuser qu’une femme incarne Jésus et qu’un homme puisse incarner la Vierge, c’est faire preuve d’incohérence par rapport à la démarche symbolique qui est à sa base.

Le christianisme a donné de l’espoir à des millions de gens : oui, comme d’autres religions. Comme les religions antérieures, d’ailleurs : Christ est à la fois Orphée qui descend aux enfers et en revient (sur la tombe des premiers chrétiens, on gravait la figure d’Orphée car le christianisme était interdit) et Dionysos, déchiqueté par les fidèles qui mangent sa chair et toujours ressuscité (d’ailleurs, si on devait compter le nombre de dieux et de déesses qui sont allés dans le royaume des morts pour en revenir, on se rendrait compte que les enfers sont plus fréquentés que le métro aux heures de pointe). Comme les religions actuelles : le judaïsme offre, à n’en pas douter, beaucoup d’espoir à ses fidèles, puisqu’il leur promet un messie ; l’islam est sans conteste une source de réconfort pour ses croyants, sans parler de toutes les autres religions.

Le problème, et c’est aussi vrai de la plupart des religions, c’est que tout commence par un gentil baratin sur le fait que Dieu est sympa et que tous les humains sont frères et soeurs, pour continuer en disant qu’il n’existe qu’une seule religion, et que ceux qui n’y adhèrent pas sont des imbéciles, au mieux, des ordures vouées à l’enfer, au pire. Le piège des religions, dans une pratique régulière, c’est qu’elles sont une opportunité parfaite pour la paresse intellectuelle et l’esprit de clocher.

Du côté des catholiques, personne ne s’étonne plus quand on parle d’un prêtre pédophile ; on gronde quand Benoît XVI parle du préservatif ; et malgré tout, certaines femmes veulent être prêtres. Être femme et catholique équivaut, semble-t-il, à accepter d’être une inférieure toute sa vie. Quand Ann Widdecombe dit qu’une femme ne peut représenter Jésus ni un homme la Vierge Marie, elle dit qu’aux hommes revient la divinité, puisque Jésus est homme et dieu, et qu’il fait partie de la sainte Trinité, tandis que la Vierge, si elle fait l’objet d’un culte, n’est qu’humaine, donc subalterne par rapport à un dieu.

En parlant avec une étudiante en théologie rencontrée à Leuven, nous avons appris que les femmes pouvaient à présent remplir certaines fonctions de conseil exercées habituellement par les prêtres, sans pouvoir être ordonnées ni bien sûr servir la messe : un bon moyen pour l’Eglise de pallier le manque de prêtres, sans accorder aux femmes un statut égal à celui des hommes.

Je n’ai jamais considéré l’Eglise catholique d’un oeil très amical, à cause de son étroitesse d’esprit, de sa misogynie et de sa xénophobie – pourtant, le week-end dernier, je l’ai passé en compagnie de nombreux catholiques. Il y avait un jeu de rôles fondé sur la hiérarchie catholique : on pouvait aller de l’enfant de choeur (une fille) au pape (un homme), en passant par divers dignitaires, tous masculins. Tout en haut, il y avait Satan, seul capable de vaincre le pape, mais vaincu par tous les autres prêtres.

Il était pas mal, Satan ; il était joliment dessiné, et comme ça, en jugeant sur la tronche, il inspirait plus la confiance que Benoît XVI. Le diable, c’est celui qui divise, celui qui force à l’analyse ; Lucifer, c’est le porteur de lumière, celui qui éclaire les ténèbres. Le pape et le diable, au fond, ce sont deux entités complémentaires, qui ont besoin l’une de l’autre, qui se créent l’une l’autre.

Je rêvassais ainsi en entamant une conversation sur la religion avec un catholique fervent et philosophe – comme quoi, on peut être pratiquant et réfléchir – qui me parlait d’un fait divers au Canada : des Sikhs avaient dû être hébergés dans une église catholique. La question s’était posée : fallait-il enlever la croix ? En fin de compte, elle le fut.

« J’ai approuvé ce geste » dit-il « avant de réfléchir. Et je me suis rendu compte qu’il était mauvais. On enlève trop de symboles. Ce qu’il aurait fallu faire, c’est suspendre d’autres symboles au mur, ce qu’il faut faire au lieu d’effacer des symboles, c’est d’en rehausser davantage. Je suis catholique fervent mais mon meilleur ami est hindou, nous avons grandi ensemble et je connais bien les symboles de sa religion. Ce à quoi je crois, c’est à une société oecuménique, où toutes les religions pourraient cohabiter. »

Effectivement. Les symboles nourrissent l’imaginaire, pour le meilleur et pour le pire ; les êtres humains ont besoin d’une vie spirituelle, qu’ils se définissent comme athées, agnostiques ou religieux. Cela dit, on n’arrivera pas à une société oecuménique sans tolérance, c’est-à-dire sans orgueil, sans avidité hégémonique, sans ce vieux réflexe de se regrouper en un petit clan forcément meilleur que celui des voisins.

Just between you and me, I was about to call it a day, but at the last minute I decided there’s no time like the present to write a post about clichés. I thought this would be a piece of cake, a slam dunk, a no brainer. However, the more I bat the idea around, the more I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place. Now I’m grasping at straws, but hope springs eternal so keep your fingers crossed that I can get all the bits and pieces of this topic in order and not have to go back to the drawing board.

I could go on forever, but I’m sure you’ve heard all this before—after all, that’s what it means to be a cliché.  

Cliché: overused expression: a phrase or word that has lost its original effectiveness or power from overuse  (Encarta dictionary)

As writers, our job is to choose words that will effectively convey the image we have in our mind to our readers’ minds. There may be occasions when a cliché is the best way to say what we mean, and sometimes using one can help make the dialog more realistic. If we use them too often, though, our writing will be boring and ineffective. We need to avoid clichés and develop our own writing voice.

We also need to be aware of plot clichés. For example, there’s the mystery where “the butler did it;” the villain who delays killing the hero so he can brag about how much smarter he is, why he did whatever it was, etc., giving the hero time to escape; and the ugly duckling that turns into the beautiful swan story. When people have seen a plot device so often that they can anticipate what will happen next, they may not care enough about the story to keep reading. We’ll increase our chance of success as writers if our stories include a unique twist, memorable characters, and a distinctive voice.

To help you identify them in your writing, here are some links to sites listing clichés:

http://clichesite.com/categories.asp   lists of clichés

http://www.westegg.com/cliche/    lists of clichés

http://www.writing-world.com/romance/cliches.shtml   clichés in romance novels

http://www.amethyst-angel.com/cliche.html   Clichés in fantasy stories

What clichés drive you stark raving mad? What’s your favorite cliché?