Tetherd Cow Ahead

Gone, but Not Forgotten

2007-12-03T16:18:00.000+11:00

Tetherd Cow is elsewhere, due to Blogger/Google's attempts to make the platform a closed system. You are being directed to the proper Tetherd Cow Ahead.

If nothing happens after a few seconds, and you're still seeing this page, click here.

Back On The Air

2006-03-22T14:46:00.000+11:00

But not here.

The Cow has mooooooved... please go here. And all you kind people who have me linked on your blogs will have to point to the new site. If you care to keep referring your readers to me, that is...

Sayonara Blogger. You had your chance.

Off The Air

2006-03-21T10:11:00.000+11:00

Folks, I'm really sorry, but Blogger continues to be stuffed. It all seemed to be working this morning and now I've noticed the Comments page isn't loading again and I'm having further formatting problems.

Blogger technical people are being spectacularly unhelpful. There is no information forthcoming about what the problems are, the magnitude of them, or when, or even if they are likely to be fixed. Blogger Status information continues to be completely useless (they haven't even changed the message in two days).

This is immensely frustrating as you can imagine. Because of the bizarre and intermittent nature of the problems, I can't even tell if things are working from one moment to the next.

I'm also extremely busy at the moment and I don't have time to execute my preferred option, which is to migrate The Cow across to some other platform.

As a result I'm going to put the blog on ice for a week or so, so you won't see any posts.

I simply cannot convey the measure of my extreme annoyance at this poor service from Google/Blogger. I can only reiterate what I said before: Google is cruising for a fall. If they can't reliably look after something like Blogger, why would you ever trust them with anything valuable. You have been warned.

Adios for a while.

Peter.

God Creates The Wrong Impression

2006-03-21T09:16:00.000+11:00

Confidence

2006-03-20T12:07:00.000+11:00

So now, I've lost all my sidebars and some other utility from my xml template for The Cow. Even though Blogger says the filer is fixed. On checking the Status Page, I got the above, very reassuring page load.

[pulls hair out]

Then I tried to upload this post and got:

Yeah, this looks fixed to me.

Bicycle Shop Built For Two

2006-03-19T19:18:00.000+11:00

So anyway, yesterday I was in this bike shop near where I live and I heard this conversation:

Bike Shop Assistant (to woman browsing racks and racks of bikes): Can I help you?

Woman: I want to buy a bike.

BSA: So, you want to buy a bike?

Woman: Yeah, I want to buy a bike.

BSA: OK. OK.... A bike?

Woman: Yeah, I was thinking, like, maybe I should get a bike.

BSA: Right. So. A bike.

Woman: Yeah, a bike.

These people vote.

Google Took My Friends

2006-03-18T17:39:00.000+11:00

Dear All,

I apologize for the idiotic behaviour of The Cow over these last few days, even though it really has nothing to do with me. Blogger/Blogspot is having some kind of spak attack and all manner of craptacular behaviour has resulted. I checked with the Status Page just now and apparently 'everything is back to normal'.

Well that's a new reading of the word 'normal' anyway, which seems to include the fact that the formatting on The Cow may or may not work, you may or may not be able to make comments, and if you do, they may or may not actually appear.

This is just another incident in a long line of crappy service that has occurred as a result of, or in coincidence with Google's takeover of Blogspot. It seems that Google has hit that inevitable part on the rising curve where companies (or Empires) get too big too fast and everything goes to shit.

I'll probably port everything over to an independant site pretty soon, to my great regret. I am philosophically very much inclined toward this wonderful egalitarian model of free shared information, but Google of all people should be aware how important reliability is to such endeavours. And now they're gunning to get us all to trust them with our personal data.

Well, not me chaps. You just blew it. You were doing good for a while there, and I used to be a big fan. Now you're starting to look just like any other money-hungry capitalistic venture.

If you have been trying to make comments on The Cow and have been thwarted (by lack of any facility for doing so - wha??), once again I apologize. Please don't stop visiting me - you're the only friends I have.

The Da Vinci Coda

2006-03-17T18:08:00.000+11:00

A friend of mine told me the other day that secondhand copies of The Da Vinci Code are now so numerous that charities are refusing to take them any more. This led me to wonder to what kinds of uses we might put the ever-increasing tonnage of this dreary piece of literary ephemera as it reaches the end of its far-too-extended lifespan.

Here are some possibilities that occurred to me. Further suggestions welcome:

⊕ Send them back to Dan Brown so that he might comprehend the true magnitude of the hell he has wrought upon the rest of us.

⊕ Build a new World Trade Center out of them, because, should it be bombed by terrorists again, who would care?

⊕ Save them to build levees against rising sea levels (caused by global warming, caused by lack of trees, caused by manufacture of copies of The Da Vinci Code...)

⊕ Send them to prisons and make inmates read them if solitary confinement doesn't work.

⊕ Build churches out of them.*

⊕ Use them to lure termites away from endangered wooden buildings.

⊕ Build a huge Wickerman-style structure out of them, imprison Dan Brown inside and burn it.

OK, over to you guys.

*'Cause that would piss a lot of people off.

Return to Sender

2006-03-15T12:13:00.000+11:00

One effective method of stopping junk mail.

Stupid News Speak

2006-03-15T09:06:00.000+11:00

Have you noticed that there is appearing in the news media, a kind of nutty and meaningless phraseology that is peculiar to the popular press? Things like '... this senseless act of vandalism was committed in the early hours of the morning...'. Senseless act of vandalism? Like there are acts of vandalism that are sensible...?

Maybe:

Sensible vandals today sprayed graffiti over train carriages but made sure not to endanger themselves or the general public by wearing safety harnesses and protective clothing.

Here in Sydney, we have apparently just experienced 'the ugly side of racism'. This should not be confused with the redeeming side of racism which is, well, er...

Maybe:

The lighter side of racism was demonstrated in Sydney today, when white children beat and shot aboriginal children in an hilarious spoof of the early colonial encounters with the native inhabitants.

And recently the death of a famous media personality, known mostly for his astute business acumen in the field of tax 'minimisation', evoked the headline 'The Many Sides of an Enigma'.

An enigma is not like a box or other geometric figure. It doesn't have sides. Not even an inside and an outside. What is wrong with 'The Many Aspects of an Enigma', or even just simply, 'An Enigmatic Man'. Next it will be 'The Many Colours of Opportunity' or 'The Many Edges of Freedom'...

Where do these people learn this mangled form of expression? Do they ever actually think before they write? How long will it be before all language becomes entirely meaningless?

Aliens Ate My Cow

2006-03-13T09:08:00.000+11:00

I've been meaning to write something about the eerie phenomenon of Alien Cattle Abduction for some time (because you know this will be a subject of continued concern here at The Cow), and now Radioactive Jam has stumbled across some breaking news in Canada. Visit this site and find out all about the unsettling facts that governments are hiding from us!

Thanks RaJ, and thanks Canadian Milk Board for doing something funny with advertising for a change.

Like a Bat Out of Hell

2006-03-07T20:36:00.000+11:00

Last July, fellow blogger and faithful Cow Reader Radiocative Jam spotted what appeared to be God's SUV whilst on his way to work. Yes folks, it seems that like mostly everyone else God is totally unconcerned about Global Warming and is happy to chew up the fossil fuels with reckless abandon.*

Anyway, the other day I am driving down Botany Road in Alexandria, Sydney, and I cruise up behind this black jeep at the lights. The license plate reads SATAN.

Now I am completely aware that not one single reader is going to believe me after my recent escapades with a certain feline minion of the Dark One, so at great risk to an elderly pedestrian nun, and physical risk to my own person (of a hernia), I retrieve my cell phone from my pocket with a view to snapping a crystal clear shot of the plate.

Too late - before I can say 'Beelzebub's Bollocks!", the jeep is out of range and heading for Hades. I've got an iceberg's chance in Hell of catching him. I realize that you'll all be scoffing in disdain at the above shot, but it's the best I could do. Moments later the jeep had disappeared in an oily black puff of diesel and brimstone.†

*Well, I guess in His case, he can argue that He made them, so he can bleedin' well do what he likes with them...

†One of the tail lights was broken, but I wouldn't want to be the cop that pulled him over...

Amazing New Cure!

2006-03-06T15:04:00.000+11:00

Is your computer behaving erratically? Do you suffer from Hangs, Crashes or Freezes? Did you 'accidentally' open that 'hotnakedwives' jpeg or click on the 'Nude Kim Possible!' link that was 'mysteriously' sent to your email address last week? Have you comprehensively failed to practice safe text?

Well, Intrepid Internet Adventurer fear no more!!!

TCA Enterprises™ in association with Hello From Hell Inc. offers to you here, for the very first time on the internet, The Virtual Homeopathic Cure.

Yes this Cure, acting in much the same way as a conventional Homeopathic Cure works in the Real World, is presented in the form of the neutral-tasting, and almost completely transparent Virtual Glass of Water (VGW)™! The VGW™ has been created ENTIRELY DIGITALLY from the very same bits that Evil Computer Hackers use to make their Dreaded Viruses! Here at TCA, our scientists have taken those bits and distilled them down to just 1 billion billionths of their former strength and used them to create a remedy that will protect you FOREVER from the scourges of Worms, RATs, Trojans and bugs.

How Does it Work?

Just view the picture above on the screen of any computer you believe might be infected! Yes, that's ALL YOU HAVE TO DO!! By activating the Homeopathic Law of Digital Similars the VGW™ goes to work immediately on your computer without you even being aware of anything happening! INCREDIBLE! Behind the scenes, the VGW™ is cleansing every single bit in your RAM, on your hard drive, and in your cables using Atto-Magnetic Rotation (AMR)™ and Double Spin Holographic Resonance (DSHR)™. As long as you keep the VGW™ somewhere on your hard drive, and view it from time to time (our Researchers suggest weekly), we give you our 100% MONEY BACK GUARANTEE that your computer will BEHAVE BETTER and FEEL MORE FRIENDLY than it has ever been! Not only that, your screen will appear SHARPER and and all websites and emails will be CLEARER and MORE DEFINED. In addition, your keyboard will feel MORE RESPONSIVE, typing errors will DRAMATICALLY DECREASE and unwanted spam will be REDUCED BY HALF!!

How Much Does it Cost?

Well, as a Special Introductory Offer, we are making the VGW™ available to readers of Tetherd Cow Ahead ABSOLUTELY FREE! Yes, you heard me right, ABSOLUTELY FREE! Best of all the VGW™ is already working on your computer!!! The Virtual Homeopathic Technology we have used is SO POWERFUL that just by viewing the image in this post, viruses have been cleansed from your system.

There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch. What's the Catch?

Faithful Readers. I know you will be SO IMPRESSED by the VGW™ and SO GRATEFUL to have been given the chance to be the first to experience this revolution in Computer Health that you will be wanting to share the VGW™ with ALL your friends. That's right Folks, I want you to be my Watery Army and start The New Flood! Send the VGW™ to all your friends! Send them a link to this post! And make sure they send the Word on to their friends, and to their friends' friends!†

Why Are You Using So Many Capital Letters and Exclamation Marks?

I DON'T KNOW! I just started writing this post and I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF!!!

So, all you Aquifying Acolytes, off you go to Splash the word around! I want to see my web counter clock fifty thousand hits by the end of the week! Onward towards a Healthier, Happier and Wetter Internet!!!

†And while you're at it, how about some product endorsements in the Comments?

Spawn of Satan

2006-03-05T17:17:00.000+11:00

Unretouched image.

meOW!

2006-03-01T09:37:00.000+11:00

I am loathe to just pinch articles from boingboing but I'm afraid I had no choice but to make sure you all knew about The Cat Piano.

Yes, it's exactly what you think: the keyboard is connected to a mechanism that jabs a sharp spike into the bum of the appropriate cat, each of whom has been selected for the pitch and tone of its meow. Oh the cruel mirth.

I am obliged to recount that the brother of a certain reader of this blog has a variation of this instrument, called The Cat Bagpipes, in which the cat is held splayed in the arms in a manner that resembles bagpipes. The cat's tail is held in the mouth and upon the 'player' biting it, the cat then utters sounds not unlike the tones of a bagpipe.

Now before I get spammed by animal rights activists, I just want to say I don't condone this behaviour.

But it sure is funny.

The Reverend's Aussie Tucker Stop

2006-02-27T20:47:00.000+11:00

So what with all the dismay from foreigners that the Outback Steakhouse is nothing but a farcical caricature of proper Australian food, there are those who have been putting the pressure on The Cow to set things straight. So for your edification, a menu from a typical Aussie childhood, featuring the kinds of food that I grew up with. I need to point out here that there is dispute over some of the following items having an exclusive Australian pedigree (the jury is forever hung on the matter of the pavlova), but this is more a tour through nostalgic food than a comprehensive detailing. I am open to additions and illuminations from my Australian readers - I'm sure everyone has their favourite. I didn't even get to mentioning iced vo-vos, cobbers, White Christmas, Milo, Anzac biscuits and countless other goodies.

For Starters (or entrees as we call them here):

The Prawn Cocktail ~ cooked small prawns (or shrimp) on shredded iceberg lettuce, drizzled with a tomato sauce & mayonnaise dressing, served chilled.

The Vegemite Sandwich ~ two generously buttered slices of fresh white bread with a thin layer of Vegemite. Best enjoyed with milky sweet hot tea.*

A Serving of Fresh Damper ~ a kind of soda bread, not unlike a scone in texture, wrapped tightly in foil and cooked in the hot coals of a campfire.† Served with a slice of cold lamb and some mustard pickles.

For the Main Course:

Roast Lamb Dinner ~ Lamb roasted with rosemary and pepper, served piping hot with baked potatoes, pumpkin and parsnip, and a generous portion of peas and broccoli. Rich meaty gravy on the side, for pouring copiously across the potatoes.

Meat Pie & Mushy Peas ~ A hot steak & luscious gravy pie served with a topping of mashed cooked peas. Optionally served in a bowl of gravy as a 'floater', or in pea soup as a 'Pea Soup Floater'.★

Carpetbag Steak ~ A thickly cut Scotch fillet sliced open and stuffed with oysters and Worcestershire sauce. Served with mashed potatoes and peas.

Rissoles ~ Patties of meat, herbs and breadcrumbs, shallow fried and served with mashed potatoes and peas. A bottle of Fountain Tomato Sauce presented at table.‡

And for the Vegetarians:

Don't be ridiculous.††

For Dessert:

Pavlova ~ A sweet crunchy-yet-gooey meringue case filled with cream and seasonal fruits. Strawberries are de rigeur if available. Named in honour of Anna Matveyevna Pavlova, after she toured Australia and New Zealand in 1929.♥♥

A Plate of Lamingtons ~ Small cakes made from sponge and coated with a layer of chocolate and dessicated coconut.

Pikelets ~ Small pancake-like flat cakes, served with jam and honey.

Drinks:

Passiona ~ a passionfruit flavoured soda. The taste of summer.

Tea ~ Brewed in a pot (teabags are a heinous crime perpetrated on humanity). Served black, or with milk, sugar optional. No-one drinks it iced; that's for sissies.

Lime Spider ~ Lime soda with a big scoop of icecream.

Bodgie Blood ~ Cola with a big scoop of icecream and then a generous splash of raspberry syrup.**

The wine list would of course be comprehensive; if there's one thing we're good at, it's making wine.

As I say, this is a menu typical of my childhood but I dare say you would still find any or all of these things served as part of the every day fare in country Australia. These days, though, especially in the major cities, Australian food can be as sophisticated as any cuisine in the world. Our restaurants do, in fact feature some of the world's most accomplished chefs such as Tim Pak Poy, Damien Pignolet and Tetsuya Wakada, to name only a few. When I was a kid, we never ate pasta or coriander or even garlic. My dad used to think pizza was an exotic dish. Nevertheless, we have always had an abundance of very fine ingredients, and the extraordinary mix of cultures that we have accumulated makes for some of the most spectacular dining you are ever likely to experience.

*Vegemite is, it is said, an acquired taste. I am of course unable to vouch for that because I must have acquired it as a child. If you've never had it, it is a salty, yeasty black-as-tar spread that is traditionally eaten on bread, or even better, hot buttered toast. For me, it is always consumed in conjunction with sweet tea, a combination that has about as much nostalgic effect as Proust's Madeleine.

†When we were kids we used to do a variation on this: the damper dough was rolled out into a long strand about half an inch in diameter and wound in a spiral along a green eucalyptus stick. This was then held in the campfire until cooked. It was peeled off the stick, warm and crusty and doughy, and dipped into Golden Syrup. If you've never experienced this, I wish for your sake I could give you some idea of the delicious evil treat it is.

★Famously available at Harry's Cafe de Wheels, a Sydney institution.

‡The secret of the perfect rissole was famously portrayed in the quintessential Australian film, Sunday Too Far Away. I don't want to tell you too much about this - suffice to say that if you search for "Sunday Too Far Away" and "rissole" on Google, you get one and only one hit. Read it at your peril. It is the ultimate illustration of Australian humour.

††There was no such thing as a Vegetarian when I was a kid. Really.

♥♥As I mentioned, the creation of the pavlova is the subject of heated disagreement. It's unlikely ever to be definitively settled.

**This concoction was served at The Blue and White Cafe in Goulburn, the small country town where I grew up. Only very few Australians remember the Bodgie Blood, even though it was widespread enough for it to be more than merely a local invention, but there are enough of us that we can vouch reliably for its authenticity.

God Creates Kittens

2006-02-25T12:36:00.000+11:00

God Creates Giant Centipedes

2006-02-24T14:28:00.000+11:00

Four Legs Good, 100 Legs... er...

2006-02-23T20:54:00.000+11:00

If you read boingboing you probably caught this article about a guy who found a Venezuelan centipede in his London home. Well that's all disgusting enough.

But I'm watching David Attenborough's 'Life in the Undergrowth' just now and he told me the real dirt on these foot-long beasts.

They catch bats in flight and eat them. Bats. Seriously. They climb up a cave wall, and hang there to catch a passing bat. And they're poisonous.

It makes cockroaches look kinda cute.

The Perfect Surface

2006-02-22T20:17:00.000+11:00

My friends Pil and William were married on the weekend at a lovely gathering of friends and family. Pil is a big tennis fiend (notwithstanding the fact that she seems to break a bone every time she plays), and William is, well, a tiny bit of a Doctor Who fan.

I thought you guys might like to see their cake...

(Oh, yes, the ring-in is their dog, Daisy, who likes to act in a supervisory capacity in all things).

Memories of New York

2006-02-21T09:21:00.000+11:00

Now it's two years since my beautiful Kate died, and I still miss her every day. Kisses to you buddy, wherever you are.

xxx

The Mini Panther

2006-02-19T19:42:00.000+11:00

I know you're all wanting to know how Glitch is getting along. Well, I feed him a small child every few days and that seems to do the trick. I now have a chair and a whip and a nice red coat with gold buttons. We'll be touring the show as soon as I finish welding the bars on his cage.

A Jumbuck in Yer Tuckerbag

2006-02-13T20:28:00.000+11:00

In the comments on The Cow's last post jedimacfan was moved to ask:

"I suppose the next thing you're going to tell me is that Outback Steakhouse isn't really Australian food?"

This reminded me of the one and only time I have ever been to an Outback Steakhouse, near Wilmington NC, and what a jolly old time three of us Australians had therein. And yes, jedimacfan, I'm going to tell you that this isn't really Australian food. Not even close.

One of the things I remember is that our waiter, dressed in ludicrous faux 'drover's attire' (or something), on hearing one of my friends' very mild swearing, asked "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" We knew right away that these people had very little experience of Australia.

And then we saw the menu. Oh how we laughed! Let us examine it:

♦Bloomin' Onion - An Outback Ab-original from Russell's Marina Bay

The 'Bloomin' Onion' is not an Australian invention. It is certainly not an 'Ab-original' invention and I sincerely hope that there is nothing more than a bad pun involved in this description. This is about as close to the wind as you could sail with a gag like this without being racist and/or condescending. As far as 'Russell's Marina Bay' is concerned, well, there is no such place. They just made it up! Look it up on Google - all the hits you get are... yep, the Outback Steakhouse.

♦Aussie Cheese Fries - Aussie chips topped with Monterey Jack and Colby cheeses and bacon served with spicy ranch dressing

It's hard to imagine a foodstuff you are less likely to find in Australia. Sushi, yes, Goat curry, sure. Kim chee, falafel, Chinese-style pig's trotters, Thai octopus salad, gado-gado, sucuklu, burek - any of these I could go pick up for dinner right now. Foraging further afield I could get barbecued crocodile, kangaroo steaks, scrambled emu eggs and even roast camel. But sorry folks, no-one serves cheese on top of chips here. It is, I think I am right in saying, pretty much an American idea that you should take perfectly edible food and then completely drown it in melted cheese.

♦"Gold Coast" Coconut Shrimp - Six colossal shrimp dipped in beer batter, rolled in coconut, deep fried to a golden brown and served with marmalade sauce .

Yeah, that's entirely possible. The Gold Coast is the Australian twin city to South Carolina's Myrtle Beach. I'm sure jedimacfan will understand the comparison.

♦Walkabout Soup - A unique presentation of an Australian favourite. Reckon!

What? What do they mean by this? Aborigines don't carry soup on walkabout. It would be utterly idiotic. Native Australians would have NO idea what this was. Furthermore, you could stop anyone on the street here, anyone, and ask them what 'Walkabout Soup' was and I will guarantee that not one person other than someone who has been to an Outback Steakhouse would be able to tell you. Reckon.

♦Drover's Platter - Generous portion of ribs and chicken breast on the Barbie with Aussie chips and cinnamon apples.

Ah, the old traditional Australian cinnamon apples. Yes, they feature a lot in the OS menu. But guess what! WE DON'T EAT CINNAMON APPLES HERE. (Except maybe, like, once every ten years at Christmas time. Maybe). Cinnamon is the dessert equivalent of melted cheese; take any perfectly edible dessert and add cinnamon to it. Genius. I'm surprised no-one in America has yet invented the perfect all-in-one meal: cinnamon coated melted cheese! (In fact I am totally afraid that someone has and I just haven't heard of it yet).

Botany Bay Fish O' The Day - Fresh catch, lightly seasoned and grilled, with fresh veggies

You don't eat anything that comes out of Botany Bay. Or Sydney Harbour for that matter. Seriously. Recently there was a government-issued warning about doing so.

I could go on. Suffice to say that the entire menu is risible in one way or another. There is no 'Rock Hampton' although there is a Rockhampton; we have never called mushrooms 'shrooms'; no-one says 'Hooley Dooley' anymore (the last user of this phrase died twenty years back, and he was a hundred and fifty eight); 'bonzer' is generally spelled 'bonza'; and there is not, among the choices of burgers on the OS menu, anything remotely resembling a traditional Australian-style hamburger (and yes, we do have beetroot on hamburgers).

About the only thing that is acceptably Australian on the Outback Steakhouse menu is the wine list. So, if you should find yourself in one of these places, my advice to you is therefore to get completely plastered as quickly as you can on one of our great Australian wines. Hopefully you will wake up the next morning with no hangover and no memory at all of where you've been. Then you can come visit us down here sometime and find out what our food is really like.

My shout.

Blues For Breakfast

2006-02-12T10:15:00.000+11:00

If you run a cafe and a customer asks the question "Is your orange juice freshly squeezed?" there is only one acceptable answer: "Yes, of course!"

If you need to answer "No" then you shouldn't be offering orange juice on the menu. The chalky bitter-and-yet-too-sweet orange coloured stuff that comes supplied in plastic bottles is about as close to orange juice as Kool Aid is to, well, any naturally occurring substance.

Other unacceptable answers to the above question:

♦"Yes, it's that brand that gets squeezed daily. We get it delivered every couple of days...*"

♦"No, but it's organic"

♦"I'm not sure†"

♦"No, it's Tang"

♦"No, but it's a really nice brand‡"

Lately, a cafe in my area has taken to providing a certain brand of organic orange juice in an ugly plastic bottle. If you are foolish enough to order it, the bottle is delivered to the table with a straw, no glass. This is all about showing off your preference for drinking expensive organic juice and nothing about enjoyment. It tastes like shit.

Hear me, restaurants of the world: the only acceptable option for providing orange juice to a customer is to get a few big fresh oranges (organic if you desire, certainly), squeeze the juice out of them and deliver it immediately to the table. Don't put ice in it.

The Cow has spoken.

*No kidding - a waiter said that to me once.
†You may as well say "No". Any restaurant waiter worth their wage could hardly not notice orange squeezing apparatus. It's not like it's a Stealth process or anything.
‡ No it isn't. Orange juice in bottles does not taste at all like real orange juice. Ever.

God Creates a Diversion

2006-02-10T20:50:00.000+11:00

God Creates the Slugs

2006-02-10T14:28:00.000+11:00

God Creates Humans

2006-02-08T11:17:00.000+11:00

God Creates the Platypus

2006-02-07T11:58:00.000+11:00

God Creates Ampulex compressa

2006-02-06T17:42:00.000+11:00

God Creates the Cockroaches

2006-02-05T21:18:00.000+11:00

Take Two Tablets and Call Me in the Morning

2006-02-03T16:12:00.000+11:00

Since I'm casting down moral aspersions from up here on my high horse (or high cow, should I say)...

It's plain to see that in this modern world the original Ten Commandments are, well, not keeping up. It's obviously time for a re-write to put the Commandments in line with what appear to be the acceptable modern morals. So, herewith, The New Amended Ten Commandments:

TenComm™ v2.0 (beta)*:

1. Thou shall have no other God before me. Except if that God is Mammon. Then it's entirely OK. (If your God is Mammon, skip the rest of TenComm 2.0. It will all be old news to you).

2. Thou shall not take the name of the Lord in vain. Except if you slam the car door on your hand. Or use the name of the Lord to promote commercial endeavours such as candy, mortgage schemes or especially your new Pentecostal-style church.

3. Thou shall observe the Sabbath and keep it Holy. Except if the football is on. Or if you have to rake in some money from your new Pentecostal-style church.

4. Thou shall honour thy father and thy mother. Except if they try to instill in you some kind of thoughtful moral standards and sense of empathy for your fellow human. In which case do all that you can to disappoint them. (Special Dispensation: if you are a clone, you may ignore this Commandment).

5. Thou shall not kill. Except if undertaking 'Crusades'. Then it's OK to kill, maim, rape, steal and, oh heck, break every one of TenComm v1.0. In general it's OK to kill at any time if you invoke the name of God. It's especially OK if at some stage in the proceedings the victim has invoked the name of his/her differing God.

6. Thou shall not commit adultery. Except if you are a prominent member of the Church, a politician or an influential business person (or Hollywood personality), in which case it's perfectly OK. Oh, also, if you're concerned that you are committing adultery, then just get divorced.

7. Thou shall not steal. Except if you can do it without getting caught. Or if you run a Pentecostal or other cult-style church, in which case you may steal a tenth of the salary of the suckers who join up.

8. Thou shall not bear false witness. Except if you are in a postion of power, such as the church, police force, or especially the government. In which case, just rearrange the facts to suit your story, and then make that the law.

9. Thou shall not covet thy neighbour's wife. Unless she is Paris Hilton, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston, etc, in which case, covet away. Don't get caught.

10. Thou shall not covet thy neighbour's oxen. Because who really wants an oxen, right? They are big and dumb and will shit copiously on your carpet. You may, however, covet with impugnity your neighbour's plasma tv, Porsche Boxter, or Armani suit. In fact you are encouraged to do so to keep the economy lubricated.

Stay tuned for Seven Deadly Sins v2.0. Coming soon.

*All readers of The Cow are elgible to be in the beta test program. Bug reports accepted in Comments.

Not So You'd Notice

2006-02-02T13:55:00.000+11:00

Well you've probably all read that Google has made a deal with the government of China to provide a google.cn portal that is censored according to that government's whims. Yes, the corporate honchos behind Google, self-proclaimed Doers-Of-No-Evil and outspoken advocates of free speech and freedom of information are making a deal with a government that holds those values in contempt. Tsk. Shame.

To mark this occasion in Capitalistic line-blurring, my friend Kirke has launched a t-shirt that sums up the kind of thinking you can use if you want to take dubious moral stances in your day-to-day life. He can't promise you'll feel better about such ethical wavering, but at least you'll be being honest.

Which is more than we can say for Google.

Gopher Broke

2006-01-31T16:13:00.000+11:00

Well it's not often that you get the scoop over boing-boing, so I have to gloat that we were well ahead of the wave here on The Cow:

This article from this morning about a guy who's just discovered that FAEs can be used for underground pest control.

Yawn. So Last Century...

Annus Bovis

2006-01-28T08:17:00.000+11:00

The Cow is one year old today! Who'da thought I'd ever have enough things to say to keep it going this long? Yeah yeah, hands down at the back. I never said important things to say. If I had important things to say I'd be working on my Pulitzer.

Well, it appears to be de rigeur on media anniversaries to revisit the year that has past, so I thought I'd put up some of my favourite posts for nostalgia's sake. There's no rhyme nor reason among them, just a selection of things that took my fancy. Sometimes it's more for the commentary by you guys than the post itself. So I thank you for your wit, your wisdom (although lord knows there's precious little of that) and especially for making me laugh.

Salut!

♥Bored Housewives: in which a small tragedy is revealed.

♥Schrodinger's Curry: in which quantum physics does something mysterious and inscrutable. As usual.

♥Half a Bladder: in which a curious phone message is received.

♥That Which We Call a Rose...: in which Little Noodle sums it all up in one line, and Joey Polanski made me laugh more than I can say.

♥Invisible Ink: in which I amuse myself and confuse everyone else.

♥Flying Pig Shit: in which Internet wisdom is examined and found wanting (surprise!).

♥Physical Attraction: in which we take a look at Schrodinger's Pussy.

♥River Deep Mountain High: in which vodka and rancid yoghurt drinks are discussed.

♥The Metropolis: in which a few people are taken in by my jolly jape.

♥This Is Not a Hoax: in which the commentary actually had real-life consequences ( Pil & William, I promise you'll love every moment...)

♥Call Me Reverend: in which I fulfill a life-long ambition.

Well, I won't go any more recent than that. I'm sure you either remember back to at least November, or if you don't, have good reasons for wanting to forget.

Onward into 2006!

Thanks in absentia to Imaginative Icing from whom I stole the image.

The Precipitous Precipice

2006-01-27T11:39:00.000+11:00

The Continuing Misfortunes of Simple Graphics Man ~

#10: The Precipitous Precipice.

Simple Graphics Man goes for a clifftop walk, but the fresh sea air goes to his head and he strays a mite too close to the edge...

Thanks Pete for the pic.

A Ram Sang

2006-01-26T14:42:00.000+11:00

I am having my morning coffee in my favourite cafe, doing the Cryptic Crossword, as is my wont. A guy comes in and sits at a table near me. He orders a coffee, takes out his pen and opens at the puzzle pages. I watch to see if he is doing the Cryptic or the Quick. He fills in a clue on the Cryptic. He glances up and sees that I am on the Cryptic. We exchange looks. Right On Word Friend! Who would bother with the Quick?

Another guy comes in and sits down at the table under the window. He orders a coffee, takes out his pen and opens the paper. Crossword Guy and I watch... Cryptic or Quick? He turns to the puzzles... he puts his pen to the paper and starts on the... Sudoku...

Crossword Guy and I just look at one another and shake our heads.

Love Vs Gravity

2006-01-26T09:00:00.000+11:00

This is a leaf from a small plant in a pot in my backyard. It's a tree. An apple tree in fact, and not just any apple tree. It's an identical copy of perhaps the most famous apple tree in the history of humankind (I exclude mythical apple trees).

Let me tell you its story.

My friend Rod is a cider maker. In Australia it's pretty hard to make good cider unless you grow your own apples, because cider is not just made from your average garden-variety apple tree. As a consequence, Rod has become fairly knowedgeable about apple trees, and especially interested in apple trees that might have a little bit of heritage.

Some years ago, Rod's partner Michelle was in Parkes, in western NSW, on holiday with their children. Parkes is the home of one of Australia's most famous scientific landmarks, the Parkes Radio Telescope,* which was a stop on their itinerary. While they were there, Michelle noticed an old apple tree in the grounds. A small plaque on the neglected tree told visitors that it was a descendant of the tree under which Isaac Newton sat while formulating his hypotheses on the nature of the force of gravity. Rod travelled to Parkes and asked the management at the telescope if he might take some cuttings. It worked out well - the old tree got a much-needed prune, and Rod got a number of cuttings, or scions.

Rod tells me that his research has uncovered the information that the variety of the tree is called 'Flower of Kent' and the original tree was growing in Newton's mother's garden at Woolsthorpe Manor, near Grantham in Lincolnshire. Newton had gone there to escape the plague which was rife in London at the time, and stayed there from 1665-1666 while he was consolidating his ideas on gravitation.

Apple trees are usually propagated clonally, that is, cuttings from one tree are grafted onto a sturdy rootstock to grow into maturity. This means that the descendants of the Newton tree are genetically identical to their parent tree. Clones of the Newton tree have been circulated to various scientific institutions across the globe. Parkes Radio Telescope was one of the destinations to which a Newton apple made its way. Rod made several new clones from the parent, one of which went back to the telescope grounds to be re-established in a suitable place at the visitor centre.

Rod also very kindly gave me one of the new little trees. I am not really sure he knew exactly how much it meant to me, but it is one of the most wonderful gifts I have ever received. I really wish I had a garden in which I could plant it. My tiny inner city house has nowhere at all for me to put it as it starts to grow. I'm now on the lookout for its new home. My intention is to plant it this winter with the ashes of my beloved Kate. I know she would like that.

*The Parkes Radio Telescope played an important part in the Apollo 11 moon landing.

Choking Hazard

2006-01-23T17:00:00.000+11:00

My lucky-dip present from my mate Pete at our writing group's annual Christmas meeting was this 'Super High' set of sunglasses. The packaging promises 'Super Amusive Play' and warns 'This Is a Toy!' (just in case you get so Super High that you are tempted to wear them to your next United Nations press briefing).

But the best part is the contents description:

It says at the bottom: 'Specifications colours and contents may vary from illustration.'

Fantastic! They could stick anything in this bag and not get sued.

But I know that the thing you all really want to see is how cool I look wearing them. Oh very well.

Creep

2006-01-21T14:05:00.000+11:00

Ten Creepy Films You Should See:

★Jack Clayton's The Innocents

★Tod Browning's Freaks

★Tod Browning's Dracula

★F. W. Murnau's Nosferatu

★Robert Altman's Images

★James Whale's The Old Dark House

★Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now

★Dario Argento's Suspiria

★Roman Polanski's The Tenant

★Roman Polanski's Rosemary's Baby

In no particular order, but definitely in a darkened room.

... is Worth a Pound of CGI

2006-01-20T10:48:00.000+11:00

In Tod Browning's Dracula, there's a great scene where Jonathan Harker arrives at Dracula's castle and The Count bids Harker follow him up the stairs to his rooms. Bela Lugosi, in his inimitable role, walks up the stone stairway, across which is spun a huge spiderweb. He passes through the cobweb without even disturbing so much as a thread. Harker looks on dumbfounded and is forced to push away the thick webs so that he can follow. A spider scuttles away into the darkness.

It's an amazingly creepy moment, and few cinema special effects have ever surpassed it for me. How is the Count's unnerving act achieved? Simply with an edit: Dracula approaches the web, cut to Harker's reaction, cut to Dracula on the other side of the web. Just like that.

You can pick up the Browning Dracula on DVD for a few dollars. It's worth it. Sure, the script is lumbering and melodramatic by today's standards, but I guarantee, if you sit in a darkened room with no distractions and immerse yourself in the black and white world of Browning's interpretation, you can't fail to be enveloped by the dark, dank atmosphere and the claustrophobic story.

If that scene was being made today, it would go very differently. Dracula would beckon Harker, and turn with a swirl of his cape into a tight close-up. Harker would not see The Count's face morph for an instant into the visage of some hideous fanged-demon. Dracula would approach the cobweb, which would unwind strand by strand around his dark form. He would pass through the untwining web which a digital spider would then re-spin behind him. The sequence would have fifteen different CGI shots, thirty or forty cuts and a whole swag of obvious over-the-top sound effects. It would be impressive, possibly, but it would not be in the least bit creepy.

The modern cinema of the fantastic has lost its imagination. It has also lost its respect for the ability of the audience to have an imagination. In the Browning Dracula the spookiest moment of Dracula passing through the spiderweb happens way off screen, deep in the imagination of the viewer. No amount of clever CGI can ever hope to compete with that.

It's time for ideas again. We're all tired of seeing intricately detailed dinosaurs, gravity-defying superheroes and toothy aliens that look like they have bad head colds. We've seen it. It's boring.

How about this for an idea Hollywood? Take away a third of the budget you spend on special effects and put it into creating some decent original stories. And for Pete's sake, take some risks for a change.

An Ounce of Imagination...

2006-01-19T22:54:00.000+11:00

Last week, a couple of friends and myself watched a DVD made by The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society: an interpretation of one of Lovecraft's 'Cthulhu Mythos' stories, The Call of Cthulhu.

The HPLHS* is basically a group of dedicated fans, who have, through an effort of sheer will and hard work (and not a little inspiration) done something which mainstream cinema has comprehensively failed to do - they have brought the peculiar storycraft and ambience of Lovecraft successfully to the screen.†

I have to say that I wasn't expecting too much. I didn't even know they were doing a film, and, well, let's be honest - films that come out of fandom are rarely things you want to watch, let alone tell anyone you watched. But the fact is, these guys really pulled it off. And the main reason they pulled it off should be highly instructive for a lot of the people who make up the lumbering bloated juggernaut that is Hollywood.

That reason can be summed up in one succinct thought: they were clever. Instead of even attempting to compete with the high gloss, surround sound and expensive visual effects of mainstream movies, the HPLHS have elected to depict Lovecraft's tale in the manner of the time in which it is set. The Call of Cthulhu is made as a silent movie.

It is a stroke of genius, and this simple, deft piece of insight has at once liberated the film-makers and illuminated the very essence of Lovecraft's odd and unsettling writing.

It is easy to draw a direct line from The Call of Cthulhu to films such as Murnau's Nosferatu, Wegener's Vampyr and even Tod Browning's Dracula, which is of course not a silent, but draws heavily from that tradition. The HPLHS film-makers have avoided the major pitfall of re-creating a silent film by taking the whole process very seriously and not camping it up (quite unlike the poorly executed Nicolas Cage-produced John Malkovitch vehicle Shadow of the Vampire ‡).

I don't really want to make this post a review of the film. There are plenty of reviews already on the HPLHS site and elsewhere. I did like it, and if you are a Lovecraft aficionado I really recommend you buy the DVD, because it will be a valuable part of your collection.

What I really want to talk about though is why this inexpensive amateur film succeeds so well where mega-dollar Hollywood blockbusters fail. And that deserves a Part 2.

*Warning: highly geeky, obsessive and possibly sanity-sucking site.

†There will undoubtedly be those who would ask "Why would anyone want to do that?" but we shall accept that they will inevitably be the first of the Shoggoth fodder when the crunch comes.

‡ Which failed to realize that when Murnau created Nosferatu it was one of the scariest things to hit the Silver Screen; Murnau was not directing his actors in some kind of camp romp, as the SOV writer and director obviously saw it.

Urban Tragedies #1

2006-01-19T13:19:00.000+11:00

When I'm not working, one of the things I really like to do is to get the morning paper, walk up to my favourite cafe in Newtown, have a coffee and some breakfast and do the Cryptic Crossword. It's the one island of stability in The Troubled Sea of Life. I can't begin to tell you how much I enjoy this great little place, which has been consistently good for three or four years.

So, anyway, today I am talking to one of the baristas, making flippant conversation as you do, when he says the words that chill the warm summer air by a good dozen degrees C:

"This is my last day. The new owners are taking over next week."

Sombre descending chord progression. Clouds pass in front of the sun.

I Don't Drink... Wine...

2006-01-18T16:41:00.000+11:00

Tucked away in Mysterious Corner is this innocuous looking wooden box. It has no latches or catches or markings of any kind. It's a plain pine box.

But if you know how to push the right bit just so...

The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch

2006-01-14T11:16:00.000+11:00

Now, I have to confess that there are no giant rabbits in Australia and I actually made up some things in that last post. Yeah, yeah, I know, hard to believe that I would just make something up but there ya go. Normally I would not feel the need for such a disclaimer, but in this post I am going to tell you about something almost as bizarre and yet it is entirely true.

Both jedimacfan and Joe Fuel were of a mind as to how Australia's rabbit problems could be addressed, and indeed, their suggestions are not far off the mark. Let me tell you about the rabbit control program that we had in place at Treehouse.

First of all, you need to erase from your mind the image of the fluffy cottontail Watership Down hippity-hoppity bunny. Those are not rabbits - they are the cutesy concoctions of evil minds who lived in some place where the rabbit has natural predators. Not Australia.

As I intimated in the last post, what Australia means to the rabbit can be summed up in one word: smorgasbord (well, I don't know if rabbits understand Swedish, but whatever the rabbit equivalent to that is. Probably "ee--eeee--e-eee-ee").

Some statistics:

Rabbits breed awful fast, and have a lot of baby rabbits. Gestation period for a rabbit is 30 days and they typically have between 5 to 8 kittens. They reproduce for about nine months out of every year. That's about 40 new rabbits every year. One single rabbit can deplete an entire hectare of Australian native vegetation in the course of its natural grazing habit. And Australian native plants are not just tasty to rabbits, they are gourmet yummy treat delights. Rabbits will eat native flora in preference to just about anything else. This is devastating to the vegetation, but also debilitating for native animals and birds which depend on that habitat. One eighth of all mammalian species that once lived on the Australian continent are extinct due to rabbits. I was not able to find figures for native ground-dwelling birds, but you could probably assume a similar number.

Rabbits in Australia have virtually no predators. There are introduced foxes, but the foxes prefer to eat the native wildlife because, well, before foxes there were no predators and so everyone was a little relaxed with the 'run-away' response. Eagles eat some rabbits, as do snakes, but all-in-all, it's Rabbit Côte d'Azur.

Well, except for the myxo and the calicivirus, two biological control methods that have been released with varying and unexpected effects.

So, say the Côte d'Azur with bird flu.

When one becomes a landowner in Australia, as I did with my 25 acres of bush around the Treehouse, one is legally obliged to deal with the rabbit problem that comes as an added bonus with that land. On flat outback farms, this is a relatively simple matter - you get the tractor and plough the burrows (containing bunnies) under. Done. Or, in difficult areas, you chuck in a couple of sticks of dynamite and kablooey! Goodbye Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail.

Treehouse was in the Kanimbla Valley, however, a genteel allotment of 'lifestyle' acres and hobby farms. Sort of suburbia with neighbours too far away for their hi-fis to annoy you. Very hilly and rocky, so not good for ploughing, and a little crowded for dynamiting.*

So there are a number of other rabbit eradication measures available: poisoning by phostoxin and 1080; shooting, trapping and ferrets. Aside from the poisoning, which is pretty ugly, we tried all the others. None were as effective as...

The Rid-A-Rabbit.

Here's how it works: you have a cannister of LPG which you lump around to the burrows. The LPG sublimes into a white heavier-than-air vapour when it comes out of compression, and you let some of that flow down into the burrow. It will automatically find the lowest point underground. You put in just a small amount of gas - you don't want the burrow full of gas because you need oxygen in there too (yep, I can see that the Fuels and Jedimacfan have raced well ahead here).

Then, a second person places what is essentially a fancy oven-lighter on a very long extension cord in the mouth of the burrow. Then everyone runs like hell to get as far away as possible, and the person with the oven-lighter fires the switch.

One of two things generally happens:

A: Nothing. The gas/air mixture is not right.
B: There is an earth shaking kaboom, flashes erupt out of every burrow entrance attached to that hutch (rabbits are canny enough to realise that several doors are better than one, especially when it comes to ferrets), and the sound echoes impressively across the valley (which alerts all your neighbours that you are being virtuous and they should be doing the same).†

Oh, a third thing that sometimes happens is that callous unfeeling Rid-A-Rabbit operators feel the need to start singing "Bright Eyes, burning like fire..."

*Although I was tempted, on occasion, to think about lobbing a stick or two down into the place below me which was owned by some halfwit who, for reasons known only to himself, felt compelled to light up his driveway with airport runway lights at night.

†I know this sounds cruel, but of all the methods available, it is actually the most humane. The rabbits die of instant concussion and/or asphyxiation; all the oxygen in the burrow is instantaneously consumed by rapid combustion. I'm not saying it is pleasant, just better than dying of phostoxin poisoning, which is essentially slow painful death by a form of mustard gas. The Geneva Convention would appear to agree with me: many countries are allowed to have weapons that use the 'Instant Air Evacuation' or 'thermobaric' principle in their armoury, but chemical weapons such as mustard gas are illegal. That's People-Testing for animals. You can read about Fuel/Air explosions in warfare here if you have a strong stomach.

Convergence

2006-01-13T17:14:00.000+11:00

Well, the Moon being in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligned with Mars, I've decided to use the conjunction to combine a few things that people have asked me about at one time or another. Jill was enquiring about our edible native animals, and jedimacfan and Universal Head have both shown an unhealthy interest in Australian 'Big Things'.

So herewith, for your viewing pleasure, the scourge of The Great Southern Land, the Giant Rabbit.

Yes, I know, technically not native animals, rabbits, but by golly, they may as well be there are so many of them.

The rabbit originally comes from Spain, you know. I'm sure it is a darling happy little critter as it hops around Spanish meadows. Here, it is a hideous feral menace.

The rabbit was introduced to Australia very early on. Opinions as to dates vary. There were rabbits on the First Fleet (1788), but it is generally accepted that the real problem didn't start until about 1859 when a small number of rabbits was released for hunting purposes.*

The introduction to Australia went something like this:

Englishman: Australia, this is the rabbit. Rabbit, this is Australia

Australia: Pleased to meet you Rabbit!

Rabbit: Howdy Do! (thinks: Jiminy Cricket - the whole freakin' place is EDIBLE!)

Think Hansel and Gretel seeing the witch's cottage, but with no witch.

Of course, while they were small, rabbits were hard to control and that was bad enough. But then the British, not content with just letting the jumping pests loose in the first place, carried out their atomic tests in Maralinga in the 1950s*, creating the first mutant bunnies, leading to the mega-Rabbit and all the disastrous consequences that followed. In the photo above you see a misguided attempt to usefully re-skill this Giant Rabbit, a government initiated project that was doomed to disaster from the first hop.

*Some things in this post are factual.

I Wonder If I Should...

2006-01-12T18:42:00.000+11:00

Unambiguous, I feel.

This snapped in Namibia by my friend Rebecca. Thanks Bec.

Complemented by a Crisp Chardonnay

2006-01-11T16:23:00.000+11:00

OK, now the last time I had a cat was about twenty years ago, I admit. And I want the best for my new little guy. But people, I'm telling you, somewhere during the last twenty years the pet world HAS GONE INSANE.

I'm giving Glitch a nice mix of all the catty foods - he gets raw kangaroo meat*, chicken wings, tinned fish and Science Diet for kittens. He likes all these things. And because I aim to be a good cat father, I also scan the supermarket shelves for other possibilities to keep his diet varied.

Today I found 'Fancy Feast® Royale' Natural Whitemeat Seafood in Tuna Jus. This is what it says on the back:

A delicious delicacy for fish connoisseurs: we start by hand selecting the ocean's finest filets of Tuna, then we mix the filets with Seabream and Whitebait and baste in a Tuna Jus.

Solely in the interests of blogging, I had to buy a packet so I could show you all. (He is seriously not getting this stuff in the normal course of events). Hand selected filets? Basted in a Tuna Jus? I haven't opened the little foil sachet yet, but I'm betting that when I do, what I'm actually going to be squeezing out is a big blob of fish mush.

And if mealtime goes anything like last night, it will be a case of him gobbling it all down as fast as he can, licking his bum and then snacking on a nice crunchy black cockroach for dessert.

My cat is is pure class.

*People from other countries please don't freak out; kangaroos are culled here for a number of reasons and the meat is not wasted. There are a lot of kangaroos. The meat is good lean meat, and sensible people will eat it. It tastes good. However, because the meat eaters of the world (including Australians) for some reason are obsessed with beef, instead of most kangaroo meat being used on the barbecue, it ends up as pet food. This is insane because one of the very worst agricultural things that ever happened to this country was the introduction of beef cattle.

UPDATE:Well, I have to confess that when I opened the sachet of Fancy Feast Royale, it didn't look nearly as puke-making as I expected. There were obvious chunks of different kinds of fish, and even whitebait. The tuna 'jus' looked suspiciously like... aspic. In fact, wait a minute, the whole thing looked just like the tinned fish I've been feeding him anyway...

And I'm sure you are all dying with anticipation... yes, he did like it. A lot. He ate it all up. And then licked his bum and tried to eat a piece of uncooked spaghetti that I dropped on the kitchen floor.

Dreams Beneath The Tamarind Tree

2006-01-07T17:01:00.000+11:00

After my post Clipping an Angel's Wings, I received a comment from still amazed, which follows.

I welcome such comments about these big topics, and rather than let these thoughts disappear into the ephemeral distance of Blogger Comments, I hope still amazed will not mind that I have brought it back into a main post.

still amazed said...

Sorry to be so late in the day on this one, but would it really make no difference at all if there were a creator? Wouldn't an objective scientific mind be the least be curious about how it all got started and from whence it all came -- if it came from whence at all? Isn't the Big Bang Theory an attempt to explain how and where it all started? Why would anyone have come up with such a theory except out of scientific curiousity? Has anyone ever calculated the probability that all that science describes in the universe (or is it a multiverse that we live in?) could have resulted from random interaction matter and energy?

Here's a probability argument, only in relation to the probability that a single living cell could result at random. (The argument is not mine mind you; I am obviously not smart enough to advance this one): The probability of the chance formation of a hypothetical functional ‘simple’ cell, given all the ingredients, is acknowledged to be worse than 1 in 10 raised to the 57800th power. This is a chance of 1 in a number with 57,800 zeros. It would take 11 full pages of magazine type to print this number. To try to put this in perspective, there are about 10 raised to the 80th power (a number with 80 zeros) electrons in the universe. Even if every electron in our universe were another universe the same size as ours that would ‘only’ amount to 10 raised to 160th power electrons. (Read that last sentence carefully.) That makes 10 raised to the 57800th power a very big number.

still amazed: Thank you for your considered response. There's a good question there, and some bad science.

Would it make a difference if there was a creator? That's a reasonable question. We should ask that question. As a question.

But there are many problems associated with just supposing there is a creator and trying to make your world view fit in with that. For one thing, there are hundreds of different creation stories from all over the world and from all periods of history. Even Scientology has a creation story. So which creator is the real creator? From where do we derive the tools to make that decision? (It doesn't count to say your creator told you so; everyone can say that).

Science, if practiced properly, doesn't negate a creator; scientific reasoning just says there's no evidence to suggest that it is necessary to make that assumption. Mystery is just not enough. There are a lot of mysterious things that we don't feel the need to attribute to supernatural beings. And many things that were once considered mysterious, we now understand better because we've thought rationally and carefully about them. (That reason alone should make you wary of attributing mystery to God.*).

Another problem with just supposing there is a creator has to do with where you stick that creator on a timeline. Once upon a time people believed that the world was created pretty much 'as is' a few thousand years ago. We can now easily demonstrate that that just isn't so. So the creator has moved back through the mists of time, to keep in step with scientific observation. The latest incarnation of this is the rather erroneously-named Intelligent Design, which accepts that, yes, there is such a thing as evolution (an admission that would have once been heretical) but claims that it only works to a point. The perceived 'slack' is taken up by the creator. All this re-arranging of the goal-posts just completely smacks of human-ness.

Now, your bad science: the statistical example you use is flawed on many levels, not the least of which is a smoke-and-mirrors trick with the big numbers. Yes, it sounds impressive, but you're using a very faulty piece of post hoc, ergo propter hoc reasoning. It is often offered up to impress people.

Where does your logic fail? With the assumption that because this is the way things are, that this is therefore the only outcome. Calculating the odds of one exact outcome of a series of events is very explicitly not the same as calculating the possible outcomes of a series of events. This is an example of how people get easily confused by probability, and why slot-machine manufacturers and lottery companies make so much money.

To use numbers to say "Wow, look at what a whole lot of random events produced! Us!" is wrong in at least two ways.

In the first case, lots of evolutionary experiments, over a time period unimaginable to our human way of experiencing time, have produced literally billions of outcomes, and those are only the ones we know of. Evolution has enabled everything from slime-moulds, through trilobytes, allosaurs, water beetles, termites, coral reefs and wildebeest, to humpback whales. Your single cell example is meaningless - there have, through the millennia, been countless numbers of different kinds of cells, and cell-like adaptations. Not just one. And that doesn't even include the probably billions of billions of failures. Evolution is an imperfect tinkerer. Your example is like pointing at a person on a bicycle and saying "Wow, what are the odds of seeing that particular guy, wearing that exact red scarf, on that exact model of bicycle riding down this exact street in London on a Tuesday in December?" Of course, they are ENORMOUS odds. You would not put a wager on such an event happening. Nevertheless, when you see that guy on his bicycle zip past, you don't scream "It's a miracle!" Why? Because it isn't a miracle unless you consider it out of context and after the fact.

Another way in which your example is imperfect is subtle and needs some knowledge of mathematics and chemistry to grasp well. It is also a fairly cutting edge idea but evidence is accumulating rapidly which speaks in its favour.

It is this: evolution (both physical and biological) has a high degree of randomness inherent in it, but it is not entirely random. Very clever people like Ian Stewart, Stephen Wolfram and Paul Davies have suggested that evolution (and indeed, many other kinds of natural processes) is expedient and exploits certain kinds of physical properties inherent in the mathematical structure of the universe. In other words, evolution conserves effort by making use of atomic properties and simple rules, and for reasons we are only just now starting to understand, complexity arises from these simple states.

To relate it to your example, a cell forms because, over a long period of time, certain kinds of inherent physical tendencies (like surface tension, molecular lattice structure and forces inside atoms) are exploited by random processes. Complexity builds rapidly from these simple conditions in a perplexing way. But it's only perplexing because the calculation capability of our brains is not able to comprehend it, in much the same way as you or I can't really imagine ten million years of time, or three hundred light-years of distance. Crucially, though, we are slowly beginning to understand more of the mechanism by which life evolves by careful observation and study. Where there was once 'God', there is now more understanding. And this pattern gets repeated through the ages. No wonder gets removed by this understanding, nor amazement. Just superstition.

Now, the really Big Question. Why should the universe be striving toward life? That's a mystery. A big mystery. Science doesn't know. Science doesn't pretend to know either. Science says "Let's find out! It's a great adventure!" And we move forward and find out more.

You can, if you wish, stick God in right back there and say - God made all those laws and that's why it's so. But it's a barren thought. Why not say, instead, that God made everything yesterday including all your memories up until that time? It's just as valid a speculation. There is no way that we can usefully process either of those things. If it makes you comfortable to believe that the mathematics of the universe was written in stardust-peppered ink on a coal black nothingness in the very beginning of time, then that's OK. It's just that there is no reason to suppose that it's so.

still amazed: May I suggest you read some of the writing of Paul Davies, a scientist who has won the Templeton Prize for Progress in Religious Thought. Professor Davies is a thoughtful, erudite and deeply philosophical scientist. A proper scientist. He is a scientist who is asking the questions you want scientists to ask. And coming up with some answers. That might be the hard part for some people.

*Some things that were once considered mysterious and in the realm of gods: the Sun's movement across the sky; epilepsy; the regular flooding of the Nile Delta; dinosaurs; sneezing.

Rocket Science

2006-01-06T19:16:00.000+11:00

So, anyway, the lock on the security grill on my front door* has slowly become harder to open over time and I decide that I need to consult a locksmith.

There is one a couple of blocks from me. I give them a call. Dave, the locksmith, is very helpful.

You should be able to undo two screws and pull out the lock pretty easily. Bring it down tomorrow and I'll take a look. We shouldn't need to come out and it will save you money. We'll possibly need to replace the escutcheon†, the lock, or maybe cut you a new key to the lock. We can probably do it while you wait.

I think it might be that my key is just worn and I need a new one.

Yep, that's possible too, I'll be able to tell you straight away.

The next day I take out the lock - Dave was right, it comes out easily.
I walk down to the shop. A buzzer sounds when I open the door. A little fat man comes out.

Hi. Dave?

No, Dave isn't here today.

Oh, OK. Dave told me to bring my lock down and you could tell me what's wrong with it. I think maybe I just need a new key.

The guy examines the key and lock.

Nothing wrong with the key. You need a new escutcheon.

Oh, OK, fine. Can you do that for me.

Sure.

He disappears into the backroom. There is some tapping and clunking and a little bit of grinding. He comes back.

There, that's better.

He turns the key. It looks good. I pay him $13, take it home and put it back in the door. It sticks as soon as I try it. Oops, I think, it's actually something wrong with the door. Maybe it's misaligned or something. I take the lock out and turn the key. Nope. It's still sticking - just like before. I go back to the shop.

It's still sticking.

The little fat guy peers at the lock and wobbles the key. It sticks. I show him how it works from one direction and not from the other.

I think I might just need a new key - see how badly this one's worn?

He wobbles the key again.

No, it's not the key. It has to be in straight and it works - see?

He wobbles the key and it opens.

Yes, I know I can wobble it around and it will eventually open, but I want it to work properly - no wobbling and jiggling. Just open and close.

He sighs. He goes into the back room. There is some sawing and grinding. He comes back. He wobbles the key in the lock.

Ok, now that's better.

I try it. It sticks two times out of three.

Look, I don't want it to do this. I don't care what it takes - do I need to replace the lock? Whatever. I just want it to work properly. Maybe I need a new key made?

He takes the lock into the back room. There is clunking, grinding and more grinding. And more grinding and some tapping. For fifteen minutes. I walk around the shop thinking about how crappy the security is for a lock shop - I could steal a bunch of padlocks, keys and miniature surveillance cameras.

The guy comes back.

There, it's better.

He wobbles the key to show me. It sticks.

Now look. I don't want any more of this. I just want it fixed. Do you have a replacement lock. Whatever it takes. I don't want any sticking. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

He shakes his head and goes into the backroom. I can see him rummaging around in cabinets. Another guy turns up and there is conversation I can't quite hear, and they both start rummaging. This goes on for another five or ten minutes. Then there is silence. Then, oddly, some more grinding and tapping and clunking. He's working on the lock again! I stick my head around the door.

Excuse me, what are you doing?

He holds up the lock.

It's a bit better!

Look. I DON'T WANT YOU TO DO THIS. I'VE BEEN HERE FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES. I JUST WANT A NEW LOCK.

We don't have any locks like that.

He comes back out into the shop and puts the lock on the counter.

That's all I can do. See, the key has to be level - there's too much movement. It's not a good lock.

But it always used to work fine, and it works perfectly from one direction, just not the other. Maybe it's the key - see the tine is worn and bent. Maybe it works on the tumblers one way and not the other. Maybe I just need a new key that isn't worn like this one?

He gives me a withering look that says "What would you know about locks you stupid moron with the IQ of a squirrel?", disappears for three seconds into the back of the shop and comes back with a key that is exactly like a non-worn version of my key.

He puts it in the lock. It works perfectly.‡

*I may live in the most wonderful city in the world, but we still have junkies.

†No, I didn't know what it was either.

‡This is an entirely true story. It happened yesterday.

Clipping An Angel's Wings

2006-01-04T17:56:00.000+11:00

Do not all charms fly
At the touch of cold philosophy?
Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine –
Unweave a rainbow...
So wrote John Keats. As many idealists and romanticists have done ever since, Keats was putting on his Smock of True Art, levelling his pistol at the 'cold unfeeling heart' of science and plugging away.

Once upon a time, many years back, I probably would have leant to the side of Keats. In fact, to this day I sympathise with Keats, and I understand, as only someone who has been on both sides of the fence can, his fear and where it from where it comes.

But these days I disagree in a most profound way with his assessment that philosophy (by which he means science in keeping with the manner of his time), "empties the haunted air" by "unweaving the rainbow".

See, the mistake that Keats makes, and one that I very nearly made in a desire not to lose a sense of mystery from my life, is to think that the intent of science is to explain everything, and by inference, trivilalise it; to pit the marvels of the universe against the measure of man. This is a view of science that is fundamentally and seriously wrong.

Science, as practiced by real scientists, is a tool with which we can examine the universe and make assessments that are not based on the way we would like it to be but on the way that it tells us it is. This is one of the most rigorous intellectual and philosophical challenges that any human can undertake. Religion can't do it, art doesn't feel the need to do it, and capital 'P' Philosophy sits on the fence. Only science seeks to look squarely at the truth and endure its harsh blows.

In a private email about my recent post on homeopathy, a correspondent suggested that I was 'narrow-minded' in my view. I explained that to the contrary, my 'open-mindedness' about homeopathy was what convinced me it was bogus; I once used to think that it should be considered as a complementary medicine (and yes, I even used it myself), but my wide reading about it, my willingness to entertain both sides of the argument, was what led me to doubt its efficacy. I still read about research into homeopathic claims. If someone can give me some substantiation that homeopathy works in the manner in which it is suggested that it does, I promise I will change my mind. But you see, so far no-one has been able to do this. The support for homeopathy is anecdotal and diffuse and minimal at best.

On the other hand, if I want to demonstrate that clonal science effectively keeps millions of people healthy every day, it is a trivial exercise.

Is this any less marvellous, just because we understand exactly why it works?

Keats, like many artists, was afraid that science would strip our world and our lives of mystery. If he had been willing to spend a little bit of his time with science, he might have discovered, as so many scientists have, that the deeper you look into the universe, the more mysterious it becomes.

This does not mean that we need to invoke supernatural beings like gods and demons to explain it. It just puts us in mind of the one thing of which we should always be aware: we are tiny parts of an extraordinarily complex machine of which we know so very little. Only hubris in the form of bad science or bad religion even attempts to suggest that we can understand it all.

And if you want mysteries, try these:
★Why does the number phi (1.61803399...) appear in so many seemingly unrelated places, from plant structure to the event horizons of black holes?

★Where is your conscious self? Where does it go when you fall asleep?

★Do prime numbers occur all the way to infinity?

★Why do we dream?

★Would the universe exist if we weren't here to see it?

★Why do alcoholic drinks retain their aroma longer than non-alcoholic drinks?

★Is the string of numbers in pi completely random forever?

★Will the internet ever become sentient? Would we even know if it did?

★How does memory work?

★Why do normal body cells go berserk and multiply out of control in cancers?

★Why is it that some people can be hypnotized not to feel pain, and some people can't?
No-one knows the answers to these questions. It is possible that someday, we might know something of some of them. But then again, we might not. The crucial thing to understand is that by asking questions about these things, we don't diminish ourselves, or our dreams. And you can be sure, that for every question we answer, another two will arise.

Or Use a Cucumber

2006-01-01T15:54:00.000+11:00

Ah, Faithful Acowlites! Welcome to 2006. And what more fitting a way to ring in the New Year could I choose than a post about penis size? And not just any penises. We've spared no expense and today we're going to be talking Historical Celebrity Penis Wars.

But I'm getting ahead of myself; let's start at the beginning. This morning, Nurse Myra, ever on the alert for penis opportunities forwarded me this Important Information from 'Haltungverbund':

From: Haltungverbund
Subject: Make your penis visible through your pants.

Have y0ur heard of Erotic Museam in St. Petersburg? After t@k1ng our Viril1ty Patch RX, your dick can be exhibited there as the biggest penis ever.

Make your penis visible through your pants. Our Virility Patch RX can make your penis amazingly huge.

There is a number of medical conditions that affect penis size. These are evident at birth and may require medical intervention.

But there is only one way to fight a small penis. And it’s called Virility Patch RX.

Oh, the mirth.

Well, Haltungverbund had one up on me though - I didn't know there was an Erotic Museam in St Petersbug, so I looked it up! Yep, there it was: 'The very first Russian Museum of Erotica' established by the Head Physician of the Prostate Center of The Russian Academy of Sciences, Igor Knyazkin.*

"I want Russia to be a civilized country that looks into the future and has a correct vision of erotica," stated Knyazkin to the Nezavisimaya Gazette."

Which is, after all, an admirable goal. An uncivilized Russia looking backwards into the past with an incorrect vision of erotica defies imagination.

To this end, the exhibit that Knyazkin has chosen to symbolize this forward-looking civilized erotic Russia is, quite logically, Grigori Rasputin's preserved penis.

"Having such unique item on display, we can stop envying America that treasures Napoleon Bonaparte's reproductive organ," states Knyazkin. "In 1970s, Napoleon's genitals have been sold to an American urologist at an auction for $4000 USD. Napoleon's private part however is just a mere pod in comparison to our 30cm long organ."†

Yeah, take that you Yankee pigdogs with yer petite and undoubtedly gay Froggy penis.‡

Yep, that thing that the pretty girl is looking at in the picture, is supposed to be Rasputin's penis. Here's a picture on Flickr of another pretty girl looking at it.‡‡

I don't even want to speculate what these girls might be thinking, but I do wonder if they were there on the same day that Rasputin's great grandson John Nekmerson visited the St. Petersburg museum. On viewing his ancestor's pickled part Mr Nekmerson exclaimed, "This is really it, I've got the same one!"

He evidently has no need of Haltungverbund's RX Virility Patch.

Which brings us back to Haltungverbund's original email and allows us to make a few important observations:

1: If you want to exhibit your dick at the St Petersburg Museum of Erotica, then this surely implies that you need to be separated from it so they can put it in a jar for photographs. Sorry Haltungverbund, I'm not interested in this.

2: The Russians have taken Haltungverbund's suggestion that "there is only one way to fight a small penis" on board and are countering with their Mad Monk's Monster Member. Come on Yankees! Are you going to defend your title with the Coquettish Cock of a Cropped Corsican? Surely Lanky Abe Lincoln's Lengthy Lingam will stand up for you! Or is the Cold War still at work on your nether regions?

3: It's actually a simple matter to have your penis visible through your pants if that's really something you desire: just wear cheesecloth pants. This might not count as high fashion, but if visibility is what you seek, and your name is John Nekmerson, none of the girls are going to be looking at the pants.

Happy New Year! S Novim Godom! Bonne Année!

Welcome to 2006!

*Source: Pravda - "St. Petersburg to host the first Museum of Erotica in Russia"

†Did anyone else know this international-scale penis-envy was going on? So that's what the Cuban Missile Crisis was really about.

‡Dr. Knyazkin has also managed to acquire a gold-plated box containing the genitals of Joan of Arc. If I'd known there was such a trade in the reproductive organs of Historical Personages I'd have paid a lot more attention in history classes (I'll trade you Genghis Khan's foreskin for... Anne of Cleves' nipples and a snuff box full of Rene Descartes' pubic hair...)

‡‡I'm sorry if I've infringed anyone's copyright here, but I hope you'll agree it's in everybody's interest that these photographs are bought to the attention of the world.

The Confined Space

2005-12-31T14:01:00.000+11:00

The Continuing Misfortunes of Simple Graphics Man ~

#9: The Confined Space.

And as we bid farewell to 2005, we discover Simple Graphics Man has still not come to grips with the fact that The Chainsaw is his natural enemy. One is forced to speculate what it is, exactly, that he was intending to do in an empty basement with a chainsaw anyway.

Could this be curtains for our intrepid hero? Will he get out in time to see the New Year's Eve fireworks? And indeed, if he does, is that really such a good idea for someone with his aptitude for technology?

And again thanks to Radioactive Jam for discovering the confluence of SGM and chainsaws.

White Dragon

2005-12-28T14:30:00.000+11:00

I really love the Chinese game of Mahjongg, a beautifully simple, elegant and peaceful game that has a complex history, a grand tradition and is played widely to this day across the world. Mahjongg was introduced to the West in the 1920s via America.

My dad, who knows nothing about Mahjongg, but knows I love it, gave me this beautiful set for Christmas. He picked it up at a local market and was entirely unsure of its value or even if the game was intact. By doing a search on some faint text on the box I was able to determine that it is an English version made in the early 1920s by the Chad Valley Mahjongg Company. It is complete except for dice and counters which are not crucial and are easily substituted. There is a delightful 'hand-made' quality about the set and it speaks of an age where machines did not spew things out with rigorous precision and in vast quantities.

The tiles in the picture above are, from left to right:

The five of Bamboo (or Sticks), the East Wind, The Red Dragon, the seven of Circles (or Coins, or Dots) and the seven of Characters (or Numbers, or Cracks).

A Peddler Just Opening His Pack

2005-12-27T19:43:00.000+11:00

Spam Observations #21

Nicholas Malone wrote to me today with some cheery Christmas News. I'm touched that Nicholas took some minutes off on his holiday break to think of me. I completely forgot to send him anything.

From: BHZLFTW@gslahr.og.bw.schule.de
Subject: ModernBill
Date: 27 December 2005 11:56:50 PM

-Sensattional revolution in meedicine!

-E-nlarge your p-enis up to 10 cm or up to 4 inches!

-It's herbal solution what hasn't side effect, but has 100% guaranteed results!

-Don't loose your chance and but know wihtout doubts, you will be impressed with results!

Did you spot it?: "what hasn't side effect"...

Well, he's lying isn't he? One obvious side effect is that it completely fucks up your spelling, your typing and your grammar. He quite evidently plays loose and fast with the truth (let alone with the chances).

So despite the Christmassy fact that his name is Nicholas it's gonna be a cold day in Hell before I let him anywhere near my p-enis.*

*Not that I'm suggesting in any way that I'd be letting Santa play with my p-enis, you understand. Unless he was a she and he looked, oh, something like this.

My New Christmas Ornament

2005-12-24T13:48:00.000+11:00

All this has been rendered superfluous by my special Christmas Shotgun.

Rudolph ain't never gonna join in any more reindeer games.

A very Merry Yuletide to all readers of The Cow. I know that most of you are only getting lumps of coal from Santa this year, but hey, I always thought a few measly presents under a tree was short payment on an entire year of being nice anyway.

I suspect that none of you are going to be any less naughty in 2006.

But of course, you know by now that I'd much rather have it that way. Thank you all for you wit, wisdom, humour and friendship over this last year. You have made my blog a great enjoyment to me and I hope it has given you half the entertainment and food-for-thought it has given me.

Now, off to bed with you all, and have visions of sugarplums or else.

Snake Oil

2005-12-19T22:10:00.000+11:00

Imagine this:

You are on a luxurious cruise liner in the South Pacific (not one of those tacky floating pubs full of bloated tourists in loud Hawaiian shirts - I'm talking 1920s-chandeliers-and-monogrammed-crockery type affairs. Only A1 class analogies here at TCA). A waiter pours you a shot of vodka, but before you even get to take a sip, a careless socialite waltzing across the deck with her dashing lover bumps you, and you drop the shotglass into the ocean. The ship sails on. When you reach port two weeks later, you tell your amusing lost-vodka story to an acquaintance and they say: "Don't worry, just take a shot glass, go down to the ocean and scoop up some sea water. If you drink it, it will still have the same effect!"

Are you with me? Are you thinking what I'm thinking? You would say to them: "You are a CRAZY FUCKING LUNATIC. Of course it won't have the same effect."

If they insisted that it would, then you know that they are into homeopathy, one of the daftest belief systems to have originated this side of Scientology.

(Actually, the analogy I gave above is exaggerated. The usual homeopathic 'remedy' has even less 'active' material than the amount of your spilt vodka in the entire volume of water of all the oceans on the planet. Seriously.)

It's hard to know where to start in picking on homeopathy. It's like shooting a very fat fish in a very small barrel.

A brief lesson in how it is supposed to work (for anyone who's been on a Pacific island for the last seventy years and thinks the war is still on):

1: You acquire a substance that is meant to have some kind of prophylactic effect.

2: You then dilute it with distilled water so much that there is, in many cases, literally none of the original substance in the remaining liquid.

3: You then swallow it according to a variety of regimes, none of which need concern us here because the preceding two steps have enough nonsense to sink a ship (just riffing on the original Luxury Liner analogy).

In recent times, homeopaths have had to agree (mainly because it is unarguable) that a typical homeopathic remedy contains none of the supposed active original substance. But lately, because they really need to defend a couple of centuries of investment in an increasingly shaky belief system, advocates of homeopathy have come up with a new idea; that even though the original ingredients have been diluted out of existence, the water somehow remembers what was dissolved in it. This concept has come to have been rather surprisingly called 'Water Memory'. Let me give you a potted explanation of this (stick with me - there's a lot of willing suspension of disbelief involved): You take a small amount of a substance. You dissolve it in purified water, say, at a ratio of 100:1. Now you do this again, with your 100:1 solution, and you do it again and again and again. Many times. Many, many times. So many times that there is possibly, even probably, no molecule of the original substance left in the water (I'm not making this up). In fact, homeopaths assert that the more times you dilute it, the more effective it is. You simply can't dilute it too much*. But this is totally OK, because even though there is no remnant of the original substance in the water, it somehow† leaves some kind of 'imprint' on the water. This final solution (you may as well call it water, because it is), is the thing that is meant to cure your ills.

I don't know about you but I when I hear stuff like this I get the urge to do something like staple my hand to a table just to make sure I'm awake.

Thing is, the concept caught the fancy of a few scientists who have a bit more tolerance for loonies than I have, and who quite scientifically thought "Why not test this assertion? It should be easily verifiable in a controlled experiment!" Consequently, lots of non-conclusive experiments have been performed over the last few years. The jury is still out on 'water memory' largely because no-one has managed to do a proper double blind experiment on it, but if I was a gambling man, I know where I'd place my life savings.‡

The real mistake these diligent scientists made, though, was that they didn't consider the whole question. They tried for "Does water have a memory?" but completely missed "What are the original substances that homeopaths choose to dissolve in water, why are they deemed to be effective, and who decided that?". The scientists fell for a classic magician's smoke-and-mirrors distraction: they tackled the part of the theory that was mysterious and missed the bit that was just plain deception. But by giving credence at all to a small part of the idea, they lent weight to the entire spurious argument that is homeopathy.

To answer those last three important questions (and I emphasise, these are the things you should really consider if you are even contemplating using a homeopathic treatment): Homeopathy was invented in 1796 by a physician named Samuel Hahnemann and uses an archaic belief system traceable back to the original alchemists, called The Law of Similars. The Law of Similars is basically medieval superstitious thinking that says if you have, say, a stomach pain, then it should be treated by, maybe a pig's intestine because pigs have a good constitution and hardly ever get sick (!) Or something like that. Truly, it's that nutty. There is pretty much no rational reasoning, let alone science, involved. Hardly anyone I know who uses homeopathic medicines seems to realise this.‡‡

Let me leave you with one last thought: If homeopathy is a valid concept, then you should beware every glass of water you ever drink. Because, according to the laws of homeopathic ultradilution, every cure and every cause for every illness ever known to humankind has over the millennia passed through, and is 'remembered' by, that glass of water. Feel a bit queasy?

Me? I stick with single malt whisky. And I believe in Santa Claus because he's comparatively plausible.

*There are further aberrant behaviours involved, such as 'striking' or 'tapping' the container with the final dilution ten times to 'potentize' (ugh, even the language is ugly) it to 'make it more effective', but I've left these out because, well, it's hard enough to believe this shit even without including them.

†No one has even mooted a mechanism for how this might work. Unsurprisingly.

‡Even generously allowing the benefit of the doubt in favour of homeopathy that there is some kind of effect it must be staggeringly small. In the order of success of about one in a million treatments. This is hardly something you'd want to stake your health on.

‡‡A great thing about The Law of Similars is that in some cases, the 'cure' is the disease itself, such as a rabid dog's saliva being used to cure rabies. But that's OK, because it's diluted so much, it isn't there. Oh, I just can't go on. Even writing about it is just absurd.

Home Sweet Hovel

2005-12-18T08:29:00.000+11:00

The difference between Owning and Renting...(bigger)

Thanks Pil!

Old English Manuscript?

2005-12-16T21:31:00.000+11:00

Spam Observations #20

Kerry Webb wrote to me today with the following question:

"What is OEM software, and why should you care?"

Which is probably the easiest spam I've ever had to process mentally.

Let me put it to you in an interview format, like I was being interviewed by, let's say, Vanity Fair:

Kerry: What is OEM software?
Reverend Anaglyph: I have no idea.

Kerry: Why should you care?
Reverend Anaglyph: I don't.

Reverend Anaglyph: Do we get lunch?

Name That Dune†

2005-12-15T20:00:00.000+11:00

My friend Rebecca snapped this in the desert in Namibia. I am very partial to an understatement rendered in relative permanency. Note the exclamation mark, and ponder for a moment, if you will, on what could possibly be intended by such a thing.

† Hey RaJ - is that an even worse pun than the last one?

The Real Reason...

2005-12-15T16:27:00.000+11:00

...that it's been quiet at The Cow over the last week or so.

Motza! ☆

2005-12-11T15:04:00.000+11:00

Well Faithful Cowites, I guess you've noticed it's been quiet over the last few days. And for good reason. There's been big developments at Cow Central. I'm writing to tell you all that this will be the last posting I will do on Tetherd Cow Ahead. It's been a great (almost) year, and I've made a lotta great friends and we've had some good laughs together. But sadly, all good things must come to an end. Yes that's right folks, I'm closing up shop here at The Cow because... I have won The British GRAPHICS FORTUNE LOTTO!!! *

No, I'd never heard of it either but I have apparently WON £1.5 MILLION BRITISH POUNDS. Look, I'm sorry for all the caps, but I think you can totally understand my excitement. And besides, my new REALLY REALLY Best Friend Mac Owen who sent me the good news, likes to use caps a lot too. Well, you would, wouldn't you, if you had the job of conveying that kind of spectacular news to people.

Mac's email to me was a little long-winded, but stick with me - it's almost TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE:

From: The Director of the Prize Award Department
Reference number: EG/38807886091/05
Batch number: 340/1608/RDL

Oooh. That sounds all official and everything don't it? With all those complicated Batch Numbers and all. It must be genuine! No one could, like, just make up those numbers like that.

I wonder what other Departments they have at a place called the Graphics Fortune Lotto? The Money Hoarding Department? The Coloured Ball Minding Department? The Sucker Born Every Minute Department?

Re: Award Notification Of Final Notice

Oh. Is this an award I'm getting, or am I being just awarded a Final Notice?

We are pleased to inform you of the result of the GRAPHICS FORTUNE LOTTO brits sweepstakes lottery International promotion UK programmes held on the 10TH OCTOBER 2005. Your email address attached to the ticket number 033-1146993-750 with serial number 13-15-16-21-34-36, which consequently won the lottery in the 3rd category.

Excellent. More numbers attached to even more numbers. Not even that Machiavelli guy could get that clever.

Sure. OK. Third place is totally cool by me (since I can't even remember buying a ticket anyway). Fourth place? Eight place? A trip to Vatulele? All hunky dory here baby, I ain't lookin' a gift cow in the mouth.

You have therefore been awarded the lump sum of £1.5MILLION (ONE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND BRITISH POUNDS STERLING) in cash credited to file number EG/38807886091/05.This is from the total cash prize off £150,000,000.00(ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION BRITISH POUNDS STERLING) which is being shared among Ten international lucky winners in this category. Your funds are deposited with a security company, which will be insured in your name once you contact us.

Huzzah! It is money after all! Hey Mac, don't you worry about insuring the money in my name. You just stick those buckaroonies in my bank account, and I'll do all that icky legal stuff. I'm just so stoked to have such a totally unexpected windfall come my way. I really wouldn't want you to go to any trouble or anything. It's not like you're getting anything outta this, except maybe a basic wage, right?

All participants were selected through a computer ballot system drawn from 25,000 email addresses from all over the world as a part of our international promotional program, which we conduct twice annually.

You do this twice annually. You give away 300 million British Pounds to randomly selected email addresses every year?

→ Short currency conversion break: £300 MILLION Sterling = $526.62 MILLION US = $700.10 MILLION Australian ←

(Excuse the caps again, but I just want to make it clear that we're not talking peanuts here. Unless it huge motherfucking WETA Digital FX King Kong-sized peanuts†).

We hope that with a part of your prize, you will take part in our end of year high stake 3bn lottery.

Run that by me again? As well as giving away 300 MILLION POUNDS annually you also give away a further 3 BILLION POUNDS at the end of the year. Like as in 5.3 BILLION US DOLLARS? Like as in 7 BILLION AUSTRALIAN DOLLARS? Do you have any idea what you could buy in this part of the world for that kind of money? That's right: EVERYTHING!

Including New Zealand. If you had a reason to want it.

It does beg the question of where all these readies are coming from. 'Cause as I understand it, I didn't actually buy anything, and you just selected me randomly from my email address, so Mac, you're cashed up from exactly where? Last I heard, that kind of dosh only regularly changed hands when there was heavy armament involved. And, like, dictators with disposable countries.

And I don't mean to sound greedy or anything, just having won 3.5 million bucks, but how come I wasn't already in the end-of-year lotto, it being the end of year and all? I mean, I know I didn't enter it, but I didn't enter the £1.5MILL GRAPHICS FORTUNE LOTTO either and I won that (sure, OK, third place, but I'd take third place on 7 billion if I was forced into it...)

See, I'd be happy to fork out for a few tickets in the 3bn lottery, but by the time we get all those bank transfers sorted out, well, it's Christmas, all the shops close for the holiday, yadday yadda yadda. Yeah, it's a drag, the 3bn (ie 7 BILLION AUSTRALIAN DOLLARS... oops, sorry I almost wet myself) would have come in handy for the Christmas shopping, but whaddya gonna do? Maybe next year Mac old chum.

(Actually, when I think on it, a friend of mine might like New Zealand, not that it would be easy to wrap with that funny shape it has)

All prize money must be claimed no later than 14days from the date of this notice, as after this date, all funds will be returned to GRAPHICS LOTTO INTERNATIONAL‡ as unclaimed. To file for your claim, please contact our financial agent:

MR. MAC OWEN
CLAIMS MANAGER.

* Sigh, yes, this is, alas, merely Spam Observation #19. I'm not really rolling in mounds of hundred dollar bills piled high like Autumn leaves. And I'm not yet sending the Cow off to the Big Meadow in the Sky. So you can put the Kleenex away. SpamOb #19 is remarkable in one aspect only - that Mac doesn't suffer from Spammer Identity Confusion. Although he does have two titles, being Claims Manager and Director of the Prize Award Department. I think it's a slippery slope.

† Alright, thank you, I'm aware gorillas don't eat peanuts.

‡What the hell does a lottery have to do with GRAPHICS anyway? GRAPHICS FORTUNE LOTTO? Nobody I know who works in graphics has got 7 billion dollars in loose change.

☆ Motza = Australian slang for a huge fucking shitload of cash.

... and further to that:

2005-12-10T09:37:00.000+11:00

This sentence has threee erors.

Technically...

2005-12-09T20:39:00.000+11:00

Does a rhetorical question need a question mark?

Fa-la-la-l-alarm†

2005-12-08T14:03:00.000+11:00

I like Christmas. Or Yuletide as I prefer to call it, because as we are all aware (aren't we) that this time of year was first and foremost a pagan festival before other johnny-come-lately religions appropriated it.

Be that as it may; the origin of the season is neither here nor there in my books. I'm happy that once a year we are reminded of that noble sentiment Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All Men (I use the archaic genderism advisedly. It is of course redundant, but I like the scan). You could make it an aphorism by which to live your life.

However. (you knew there was going to be a 'however' didn't you? Otherwise that would be it, we'd have polished off the plum pudding and you'd be picking holly out of your teeth by now). However. As each year passes, I get more and more pissed off by the rabid commercial terrorism that the season has become.

It's not the giving, nor indeed buying, of gifts that I deplore, nor the decorations, the lights, the wonderful food and drink. There's a space for all these things. They are the tokens by which we celebrate the privileges of our lives. One of the great things about the Season is that it is scalable - you don't need to spend much more than a few thoughts to bring happiness to others.

But that's not how the retailers see it. Christmas is now an OPPORTUNITY. Along with that view comes the reciprocal view by shopkeepers that certain customers see it as an OPPORTUNITY as well.

A few years back at about this time, I was browsing in a bookshop in the city (I'm naming names, dammit. I really hope they read this). My own view is that there are few better gifts than a book, and I have many friends who are avid readers. So bookshops feature prominently in my Christmas shopping routine. In this particular case, I'd found a couple of things, and I was having a particularly enjoyable day (shopping for books is just about as much fun as giving them - I'm selfish like that). I paid for my purchases and was heading out the exit when...BLLEEEEMPP BLLEEEEMPP BLLEEEEMPP BLLEEEEMPP ... one of those wretched shoplifting alarms went off at my elbow.

Security Guard appears.

SG: Can I see your bag please sir?

Me: Why? (alright, it was a dumb-ass comment, but I was genuinely rattled)

SG: I'd just like to check your bag. It's a condition of the store.

Me (indignantly, realizing that he thinks I've stolen something): OK, just as long as you know I really resent you doing this (I was also resenting the fact that a dozen customers were staring at me a whole lot as well).

Of course, after I had revealed the contents of my bag to everyone in the shop, and it seems that it was just the bloody alarm detector thing having some kind of conniption, there were the perfunctory apologies and I was allowed on my way.

But man, it wrecked my day. What's worse, I now have some kind of phobia about the whole thing. It's wrecked all my Christmas shopping expeditions forever. Now whenever I go into or out of a shop when all the Christmas decorations are up, I feel like everybody behind every counter in every shop regards me not as a customer, but as a potential, or even probable, thief.

Most of all, I was pissed off that a shop in which I have probably spent thousands of dollars on books, made me, a loyal customer, feel like a common pilferer. Now, I understand that retailers have trouble with shoplifting but in their zeal to stop a relative minority of thieves I feel they have traded something valuable on something petty.

The way I see it, no matter how hard you try, you can't buy loyalty. But you can sure smash it in one embarrassing second.

†Yes, yes, I know, possibly the worst pun I've ever made on The Cow

Apple

2005-12-06T21:19:00.000+11:00

Here's another little thing from Mysterious Corner. It's a tiny glass apple, less than an inch in diameter, that my mum once gave me.

I can't remember the circumstances under which she gave it to me, or why she would ever have even chosen such a thing for me. But I'm glad she did because it always reminds me of her gentle and quirky nature.

Rest in peace mum.

'Fumes

2005-12-04T20:24:00.000+11:00

Sometimes the Blogosphere just catches you unawares with its downright joi de vivre. Over the last few weeks I've been visiting the Joey Polanski Show and having a good ol' chuckle at Joey's adventures in the land of expedient spelling. Just now though, Joey was kind enough to link to me, via a typical Joey post, and although it is always a flattering thing for a blogger to be accorded that honour it doesn't necessarily mean a reciprocal post will occur, as you all know.

Except that Joey made me laugh. I mean, really, really laugh. This is why: some of you will remember this post I made about perfume a little while back. Those of you who don't should read it before going to this post of Joey's.

See? I fell about.

Joey rocks.

Pretender to the Crown

2005-12-03T11:22:00.000+11:00

Spam Observations #18

Today, Claudio Joiner (or John Smith*) wrote to tell me that 'my woman wants a replica'. But here, let him tell you in his own words (Spam Speak is always so much better than anything I could come up with):

Subject: Your woman wants a replica

Do you want a high quality replica?

In our online store you can buy replicas that look and feel exactly like the real thing.

- We have 20+ different brands in our selection†
- Free shipping if you order 5 or more
- Save up to 40% compared to the cost of other replicas
- Standard Features:
- Screw-in crown
- Unidirectional turning bezel where appropriate
- All the appropriate logos, on crown and dial
- Heavy weight

Best regards,
John Smith

So, girls. Sound appealing? High quality replicas that look and feel like the real thing? 20+ different brands? So, you've got the picture in your mind, right? I bet it looks exactly like THIS!

*More Spammer Identity Confusion

†Once again these idiotic spammers think they are being wonderfully crafty by not mentioning the actual brand name of the stupid crapola fake watches they're selling. Like, because it will get past my spam filters and I'll suddenly think "Ooooh. I can't for the life of me think why I filtered the word 'Cowlex' from my mail. I must immediately go and buy one of these pieces of junk!"‡

‡Not that the actual real Cowlex™ watches aren't very fine pieces of merchandise, soon to be available in the TCA Store.

May All You're Christmas's Be White

2005-12-02T14:29:00.000+11:00

Well, its getting on toward's that time of year again. Yes, thats right: snow, and mistletoe and present's neath the tree.

Hands up those who by this point have started trembling and foaming at the mouth and have mentally reached for the red correction marker. Good. You may now relax in the knowledge that I'm just messin' with ya.

Yes the true scariness of the season is upon us - the willy-nilly proliferation of dire punctuation, in particular the crucifixition of the poor old apostrophe. It's bad enough at anytime, but for some reason Christmas just seems to encourage people to go wild with the little guy.

For those of you with strong stomachs, a visit to The Apostrophe Protection Society* will get your toes a-curlin' at the wonderful and inventive ways in which folks have decided the apostrophe should be employed.

And if your out and about over the Festive Season with you're camera's, and happen to see any sign's or notice's that you think might amuse us here at The Cow, be sure to send em on in...

A big pre-Yuletide kiss to weirdpixie for understanding just how much the APS would appeal to my highly developed sense of pedantry.

*See also: Apostrophe Abuse (Thanks Anne)

The Screaming Saw and the Savage Tree

2005-11-29T07:02:00.000+11:00

The Continuing Misfortunes of Simple Graphics Man ~

#8: The Screaming Saw and the Savage Tree.

It was inevitable that sooner or later SGM was going to get his hands on a chainsaw, right?

Sigh.

Thanks go to Radioactive Jam for spotting SGM in this adventure...

There is a Crack in Everything

2005-11-28T07:40:00.000+11:00

"They shewed his signs among them, and wonders in the land of Ham" ˜ Psalms 105:27

I'm pretty sure that's a misprint and should read 'land of Beef', otherwise it doesn't make a lot of sense.

You can make your own signs for distribution throughout the land of Ham, Beef or other meat products at Church Sign Generator

Thanks (yeah, really, I needed to spend half an hour playing with this) to Nurse Myra for distracting me from my writing homework with this link.

Free Range?

2005-11-26T14:10:00.000+11:00

(Or: 'As Sure as Iggs is Iggs')

OK, so you probably all have gathered that I went away for a few days and while I can tell you where I went (Wellington, New Zealand) and what I did (visited some friends working on the sound crew of Peter Jackson's new film 'King Kong') I can't tell you anything else because I have signed forms in blood and in triplicate that forbid me from doing so on pain of quite unpleasant punishment.

I will however tell you an amusing story. It's 5.20am this morning in Wellington airport, I'm on my way home. I have checked my luggage through and am drinking a really awful coffee when an announcement comes across the loudspeaker:

"Will passengers Lee and Robson please go immediately to the chicken counter. Passengers Lee and Robson to the chicken counter. Your flight is waiting to depart."

Now I know it was really early and I was half asleep, but I totally swear on the Holy Milking Pail, that I wondered for several minutes why the hell they had someone counting chickens in the airport, and how dare Lee and Robson leave this obviously time-consuming task to the last minute.

And people think Australians talk funny.

The Radionic Machine

2005-11-21T06:58:00.000+11:00

Hold on to your pyramid hats Cowettes, today we're going to take a walk on the Wild Side of the Highly Bizarre! "What's new?" I hear you cry. "I always come to The Cow with that expectation!"

Ah yes, so very true, but today I have one of the most special items in Mysterious Corner to show you.

This is what it says on the front of the box:

The Aetherius Society

Holy Stone

FROM MOUNT BALDY, AMERICA

MOUNTED IN A HANDMADE TRIANGLE

There are copious notes with the Holy Stone but for the sake of brevity I'll just provide you here with a few extracts. On the 'Important Instructions' sheet:

This sacred article is carefully hand-crafted to an exact shape and formula designed by Doctor George King, President of the Aetherius Society.

Here is some information on Doctor George King, including a very scary portrait. The 'exact shape' that Dr King has so cunningly designed is what would in less enlightened circles be described as an equilateral triangle. As to the 'formula', well, the sacred article appears to be made out of wood, but I guess I could be mistaken on that score. The instructions continue:

Because of the mystical shape of this article, it is fairly fragile. It should not be dropped or roughly handled.

Because of the shape? Because it's a triangle, it's fragile? Hmmm. Setting aside the confusing logic, this assertion is just not convincing. A spun-glass Yuletide ornament is fragile. A balsa wood aeroplane frame is fragile. A 150 million year old compsagnathus skeleton is fragile. A solid wooden triangle with sharp points is robust enough to be a murder weapon. But that's another story.

Do not allow this article to be handled by strangers and only handle it a minimum of times yourself.

Much as you might treat the precious things of the shop, perhaps.

The instructions include various packaging and care tips, including the admonition to 'always keep the article in an upright position'. This is evidently very important, because it is mentioned several times. An additional Information Sheet that comes with the Sacred Article proclaims in big letters at the top:

Each Shape is a Radionic Machine!

It goes on to say that "all owners of these Shapes, containing Holy Stones from the Holy Mountains charged during Operation Starlight" are urged to regard the Shapes as "little radionic machines!" Doctor King wants us to know that "there is at least 100,000 years of experience behind the knowledge which he put into the design of these Shapes". Normally, this would provide a bit of a problem since that puts us well back before the Stone Age, but this is no hurdle for the Aetherians, who believe that humans are just an outpost of a huge intergalactic civilization that has been around for yonks. If you care to read about that kind of thing you can spend a lot of time doing so on the Aetherius Society web page.

The Instruction leaflet also has some tips for those wishing to take their Holy Stone & Wooden Triangle on holidays:

If you wish to take this sacred article with you on vacation or other trips, pack it carefully in its own box and pack it in an upright position.

Oh yes, I can see it now:

Would you mind opening your briefcase sir. Hmm. Now, what's this?

Oh, that's a Holy Stone from Mt Baldy. See - it says so on the box.

A Holy Stone? It's set in a rather sharp and quite robust looking wooden triangle - I'm afraid you can't take that on the plane.

Ooh. Be careful - it's very fragile. Don't tip it over. And I'd prefer you didn't handle it quite so much.

And why would that be, sir?

Well, you see, it's a little radionic machine...

I see. And what exactly would that do then?

Er. Well. Um. I'm not sure. The instructions are quite comprehensive, but they don't really say anything about that...

Is that right? Excuse me a minute would you sir... Hey, Frank - take a look at the pointy end of this thing. Does that look like blood to you?

Watch the Birdy!

2005-11-20T07:48:00.000+11:00

Camera Toss (The Blog) is pretty much exactly what it says - a blog about, and by, people who take pictures by throwing their cameras up in the air. It is linked to copious numbers of Flickr sets of images that are gorgeous, inspiring, bizarre and even funny.

The blog describes itself as "A showcase photo-blog for the best of camera tossing and general musings on this form of abstract photography."

Personally, I would not be using my digital camera for these kinds of shenannigans, but apparently some cavalier people are happy to do so. There are some shots from cheap 'toy' cameras that use (gasp) film, which I think might be more in my line.

I notice there are no stereoscopic entries. Perhaps it's time for me to get out my old Kodak Stereo Realist™ and get a-tossin'.

Go take a look at the site and you'll see things like this, this and this.

Support Blogger's Rights

2005-11-18T13:50:00.000+11:00

The Electronic Frontier Foundation is currently running an awareness campaign to raise funds and gather support across the blogosphere. I urge all my fellow bloggers, and also all you lurkers out there (oh yes, I can see you, you know) to get behind this great organization by either joining up, making a donation or carrying some EFF badges on your sites (or all of the above).

The EFF is a non-profit organization which actively campaigns to protect freedom of speech (and other human rights) in the digital world. If you've never heard of them, you should go to their site and check them out. If you are a blogger, these are some of the rights the EFF is fighting to protect for you:

♦Your right to blog anonymously.
♦Your right to allow people to comment on your blog without being held responsible for those comments (oooh yes, now couldn't that be troublesome?).
♦Your right to make fair use of intellectual property (to protect you from, say, being sued because you reviewed a book and quoted from it in that review).
♦Your rights in relation to blogging about your workplace.

And there are many others.

I live in Australia, and most of the law the EFF is helping to define relates only to US law. Nevertheless, as the net evolves, it is extremely likely that the legal scaffold that the EFF sets in place will be used as a guide elsewhere. So even if you live outside the US, I urge you to support the EFF if you are able.

Yes Sir!

Call Me Reverend

2005-11-16T15:36:00.000+11:00

I was raised in an Anglican household and went to church regularly. I was baptised and confirmed, and I sang in the choir. I even became a Head Chorister. Somewhere along the line though, after all those Sundays listening to sermons and attending Bible classes, I came to understand that the beguiling story of some beneficent being watching over us tiny scuttling mortals, caring about our affairs and woes, and offering us a nice place to go when we die, was a lot like believing in Santa Claus - I really wanted to think was true, but in my heart I knew I was only in it for the presents.

Nevertheless, over the years I've come to feel that I was somehow gypped of all those hours I put in being a Good Christian Soul. After all, surely Head Chorister can only be a small step away from being Bishop, right? There's not that much difference in the outfit, aside from the mitre and the staff and a bit of gold braid. It was like doing the apprenticeship but never getting to practice the trade. Just because I don't believe in God doesn't make me a bad person (put your hands down in the back you Fundamentalists). I think I'd make a good minister.

It's some kind of discrimination if you ask me. Why should my religious beliefs affect my job opportunities?

So anyway, yesterday I'm on my way to Damascus on my donkey when all of a sudden there's this blinding flash of light and a deafening clap of thunder and a booming voice says "Go to the Universal Life Church Monastery, I have work for you to do!"†

I don't like to argue with preternatural voices, especially when they're loud, so after the retinal fatigue faded, the ringing in my ears cleared and I got the donkey out of the tree, I dutifully scuttled off to the appointed place and got myself ordained!

It took me about two minutes and I didn't even need to answer any tough questions (that one about the angels dancing on the head of a pin is always a curly one). Best of all, it was completely FREE! Man, if I'd known it was this painless I would have done it years ago.

While I was hanging out at the Universal Life Church Monastery, I noticed I could get my sins absolved too. Well, a person can't expect to go into the ministry carrying a burden of mortal sin, so a couple of clicks and I was as pure and white as a baby seal in a snow drift. And as a big plus, I got a certificate to prove that as well:

I'm going to print this out and carry it with me everywhere. That way I can throw stones at whoever I want.

Anyway, now that I am an ordained minister, I need to figure out what to do with my new found powers. According to the ULC site I can, amongst other things, marry people, preside over Baby Namings and carry out exorcisms* (obviously, a callout to do all three as a job-lot would get you a discount).

Of course, if I was in the US, my status as a minister, even though it is awarded from the ULC, means I am entitled to a new Social Security number and from there it's an easy path to a new passport and driver's license! Wait a minute - it's lucky I used my real name. What if I'd used some geeky internet handle, surely that would be some kind of identity fraud?

Now, I know what you're thinking: "It can't be that easy. The ULC is just some guy having a laugh with a silly internet site that makes bogus certificates for Halloween parties. Anaglyph's not really an ordained minister!"

Well, be afraid Brothers and Sisters! Not only is the Universal Life Church legally allowed to properly ordain me via the internet, they are a certified religion, with appropriate US tax exemptions.

Another thing I am allowed to do with my new powers is to set up a radio or tv ministry, or even a ministry on the internet! Now there's an idea.

Running with this thought, I therefore declare this post Official Notice of the Inauguration of the Church of the Tetherd Cow, and the appointment of my good self as His Representative and Internet Spokesperson. Sure we've had that as an informal agreement for a while, me & The Cow, but now it's all proper like.

So, my children, prayerbooks out, turn to page 23 and say after me "I believe in the Holy Cow..."

*I made that last one up. It doesn't say that on the site at all, but 'Marriages ☆ Baby Namings ☆ Exorcisms' would look really cool on a business card, don't you reckon?

†Being serious here for a moment, once you've lost your faith in God, the only conceivable way you can get it back is via epiphany. This kinda sucks. What kind of God would set up this kind of nutty paradox?‡

‡Yeah, yeah. I know, Mysterious Ways and all that. Such a convenient cop-out.

Going Tidal

2005-11-16T07:31:00.000+11:00

The musings about dreams over at Jill Writes got me to thinking about my dreams and the one recurring dream that I have.

It's not so much a recurring dream, as a recurring circumstance, because the details of the dream always vary, but the basic structure is always the same:

I'm in a room with a group of people. It's always a sunny, open room, with big windows on one side. Sometimes it seems like a classroom, sometimes the beautiful home of some friends. Once it was a lighthouse. There's often a lot of wood - wooden floors, wooden window frames. Everyone is chatting, happy. I am happy too. Sometimes we are eating or drinking, like a party. Then, something passes in front of the sun and the shadow darkens the room. An awful fear falls upon me. I turn to see an enormous tidal wave, huge, towering over us, coming slowly towards us. I know with utter certainty that it will fall on us and crush us and drown us all, and that this is the end and nothing can be done about it.

And that's it. I always wake up. I've had this dream many times, perhaps a dozen, and I can't relate it to anything in my waking life.

Nitrous Oxidation

2005-11-14T17:11:00.000+11:00

Spam Observations #17

It has been a while since I have made a New Best Friend but today Louis Broussard wrote to me with an account of some of his recent jolly japes. I reproduce it here for you unedited:

Hi,

Two years ago I tried one for a laugh and was impressed. It cost me $35 a tablet, girl said take one hour before activity and only need to take half but I took the whole thing. Sure enough after one hour it worked I was sitting in a bar playing a game with a girl and wasn't even thinking about it (well maybe only 10% of the brain was). I couldn't get up and walk away as jeans were tight and it was pretty obvious to any one looking that I must be a real sick puppy walking around like that. Ended up getting a mates jacket to hang over it. I took a girl back to the hotel and in the morning she said "you go long time many times", the wonder of it strikes again!

You can try it now too, don't loose you chance!

Berkleef Raymos
Thomas Gaultier Hacker
Garcia Augustin Berkan Meredith

Now a version which reflects my thought processes as I read it for the first time:

Two years ago I tried one for a laugh and was impressed.

What? What? What are you talking about Louis? Tried what? Where's the subject of your sentence...

It cost me $35 a tablet,

Oh, there we go. A tablet. For what? Laughing? A laughing tablet? What?

girl said take one hour before activity

Before activity? Take an hour before the activity? An hour off or something? What? Oh I see - take the tablet one hour before the activity. But what activity? Attending a comedy festival? Surfing? A prayer meeting?

only need to take half but I took the whole thing

Well that's hardly wise is it, for some kind of medication you've never taken before? Especially a laughing tablet. That could get you into real trouble. Like, you could start laughing at puns or something.

Sure enough after one hour it worked I was sitting in a bar playing a game with a girl

Yes, but how do you know it was the tablet? The girl might have been very funny. Or maybe it was the game. I've played some hysterical games of Flip the Coaster in my time.

and wasn't even thinking about it (well maybe only 10% of the brain was)

10% of the brain was thinking about what? The game? The girl? The tablet? Laughing? Maybe thinking about what the other 90% of an obviously fairly under-resourced brain was doing?

I couldn't get up and walk away as jeans were tight and it was pretty obvious to any one looking that I must be a real sick puppy walking around like that.

With jeans that were too tight to walk around in? Yep, I gotta say Louis, I've seen some pretty ugly sights in the tight jeans department. You should have thought of that on your way in. Most people in this joint would have already had you pegged as a sick puppy. I'm surprised you could find a girl to play games with. She must have had a good sense of humour. You really have to watch yourself with tight jeans. Aside from looking like a real dickhead, what if you got an erection or something? You could do some serious damage. Thank god for the laughing tablet, eh? I guess that, and the excruciating crushing of your testicles would have taken your mind off other things, if you get my meaning.

Ended up getting a mates jacket to hang over it.

OK, now you lost me. Mates... jacket... to... hang... over... it... Let me just read back there... OH! It's one of those kinds of tablets. Not a laughing tablet at all! Mind you, I can imagine that the sight of you in your tight jeans with a friend's jacket waggling in the air before your groin was bringing laughter to many people that night, without the need of any further medication on their part. I wish I'd been there.

I took a girl back to the hotel and in the morning she said "you go long time many times"

Yeah, well I'm not surprised. You sound like you had quite a bit to drink my man.

the wonder of it strikes again!

Louis, believe me when I tell you that the wonder of it strikes me every time I read your email.

Berkleef Raymos
Thomas Gaultier Hacker
Garcia Augustin Berkan Meredith

Ah, me. Again we see that like so many other spammers Louis suffers from the apparently epidemic affliction of Spammer Identity Confusion. I am beginning to formulate an hypothesis that it could just be that this is a side-effect of taking all these pills, for laughter or otherwise.

Whatever. I'm not going to loose any sleep over it.

Two Wheels Good

2005-11-12T15:08:00.000+11:00

Tetherd Cow Ahead Advisory: Geek Alert! Yabbering about pointless fun with technology follows...

My friend Simon was given, as a birthday present from his partner Kerry, some tickets for a tour of the Sydney Olympic Park on Segways. Simon was kind enough to invite a couple of us along with him this morning for some geek fun.

The Segway tour of the park consists of a brief training session and then a fairly lengthy ride (or maybe I should say 'roll' because it is most unlike riding) around some of the facilities and gardens.

Here is Simon getting his balance:

It really doesn't take long to get the hang of these uncanny devices. Two motors, one in each wheel, are controlled by microprocessors which constantly calculate the centre of gravity of the rider. To go forward you simply shift your centre of gravity forward; to go back, just transfer it back. When you first climb on, there is momentary hesitation because it's certainly not intuitive to just lean forward without thinking you'll fall flat on your face. But it takes only a couple of minutes to get the hang of the thing and it soon feels very natural.

I expected riding on a Segway would be cool. I didn't expect it to be quite as cool as it was. The Segways are very responsive and the motors deliver serious torque. You can roll forwards and backwards, spin in tight circles, go up and down fairly steep grades and travel mostly anywhere a person could walk (even through doorways, which we did).

It wasn't so much a tour as a bunch of nerds tooling around on a hi-tech toy. And didn't we love every minute of it.

I'd like to believe that the Segway was going to revolutionize personalized transport, but I have to say I think, for the moment anyway, that its appeal is generally one of the oddness of controlling a vehicle by what almost feels like mental power. Because you don't actually do anything, except shift your weight slightly, it seems just like you're moving by simply thinking about it. It's a real buzz. As a two-wheeled device for efficiently and quickly traversing the city with a low environmental impact, though... well, we already have one of those. It's called a bicycle.

One of the surprises of the morning was to discover that Simple Graphics Man, ever the intrepid adventurer, had already been there ahead of us. As we have come to expect, his experience was not uneventful...

At least he was sensible enough to wear a helmet this time.

The Mountains of Creation

2005-11-11T08:23:00.000+11:00

The Spitzer Space Telescope, which was put into orbit in 2003, is returning the most marvellous of images. This one, dubbed 'The Mountains of Creation' shows embryonic stars forming in the constellation of Cassiopeia, 7000 light years from Earth.

Tetherd Cow Ahead Assignment for November 11, 2005: tonight ask a friend around, pour yourselves a glass of good wine and go outside and drink a toast to the wonders of the Universe.

The Quest for the Holy Pail

2005-11-10T08:57:00.001+11:00

Yes folks, we can reveal that after a lengthy and heated correspondence between Mr Brown and the Tetherd Cow Ahead History Department the author has acknowledged that his other book missed the mark by a country mile.

He has agreed to amend the numerous philosophical and historical errors in that previous work and tell the story the way it really happened.

In line with an agreement hammered out between TCA™ and Mr Brown's publisher, all copies of that previous book are be taken from the shelves and replaced by even weightier volumes of The DaVinci Cow*.

What breathtaking secret does Mr Brown reveal in this new and controversial work? Well, all I can say is, that as Christmas approaches you would be well advised to note the Nativity scene and just who else was in that manger on that fateful night...

*The Cow is indebted to jedimacfan for using his considerable influence to obtain for us, at great personal risk, a sneak preview of the cover...

UPDATE: From around the globe, fragments in the puzzle that is The DaVinci Cow are already starting to come to light:

Fragment 1
Fragment 2
Fragment 3

Bookish

2005-11-08T15:18:00.000+11:00

Attentive readers of The Cow will remember how Gould's Book Arcade played a pivotal and somewhat spooky part in my quest to create a musical work based on Electronic Voice Phenomena.

Although I mentioned that Gould's is one of my favourite places in Sydney, I glossed over it a little in the EVP post since it had a small part to play in that already lengthy story. But this wonderful literary landmark definitely deserves some dedicated Cow ruminations.

Gould's is a great sprawling collection of secondhand books, records and magazines that is about five minutes walk from where I live. In my opinion it should be deemed one of Sydney's National Treasures. The narrow aisles are quite literally crammed with books and it is easy to spend a Sunday morning rifling through the stacks.

In addition to the Raudive Breakthrough which I mentioned in my EVP post, I've found some great stuff here over the years. I have no doubt that in among the nooks and crannies of the shelves, pushed to the back and way up high, there are many fabulous gems to be found. Like all buried treasure, you'll have to work hard for it though - there is a loose cataloguing system in place, but it is less Dewey Decimal than 'oh, somewhere over there in the back corner'.

The people at Gould's also understand the magical affinity between books and cats, and whilst the books are important, as is the proper order of the universe, cats have the upper hand.

Bob Gould tells me that he gets lots of tourists that come just to marvel at the massive collection, which approaches nearly a million books. Sadly, he says, most marvel but don't buy. This is an unfathomable concept for me. If I want to avoid buying a book, that necessarily means avoiding even entering a bookshop.

Gould's also has an online catalogue, accessible through their website or at Abebooks. But as instant-gratification as that might be, it's nothing compared to spending a few hours among the shelves.

And for Cow's sake, buy something!

Gould's Book Arcade
32 King St
Newtown
Australia

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? ~ Henry Ward Beecher

Suspected Fowl Play

2005-11-07T06:26:00.000+11:00

In my collection of newspaper clippings I have this small snippet from a couple of years back:

Just Do What the Chicken Says

Police are hunting a robber who held up a shop at gunpoint dressed as a giant chicken. The wanted man walked into the grocery store in Columbus, Ohio, in the yellow costume and demanded cash from the safe.

“We have guys with fake moustaches now and again but never anything like this,” a Columbus police spokesman said. “The person obviously has some kind of access to a chicken suit, or possibly even owns a chicken suit,” he told local television. “So if you know of someone, please call the robbery squad.”

The man fled on his giant orange feet but was not pursued. He faces several charges, including robbery, aggravated menacing and intimidation.

There are several points of interest here. First, note the perspicacity of the Columbus police: "The person obviously has some kind of access to a chicken suit, or possibly even owns a chicken suit".

Yep. That would be a fair bet.

And even though I am the first to acknowledge the brilliant audacity of Chicken Man's plan, I can't help but question the wisdom of wearing 'giant orange feet' whilst making the getaway. Surely he could have just double-parked the Chickenmobile outside the joint?

Then there is the issue of 'aggravated menacing'. A man in a chicken suit could attract many different adjectives but menacing doesn't spring readily to mind.

I got to wondering about Chicken Man and whether CSI might have turned up something on the scene with their fancy fluorescent lights, so I did a search. Well waddya know? Looks like he's been busted. News Channel 5 has the dirt.

We all know how it will turn out, right? They throw him in the coop (probably Alcatraz), where bottled-up rage and frustration work on his bird brain, rendering him insane. Then, exposure to some radioactive compound in the prison laundry mutates and amplifies his avian powers until... oh, need I go on?

The Snow Bear

2005-11-05T07:28:00.000+11:00

I grew up in Goulburn, a small country town of about 20,000 people, a couple of hundred kilometres southwest of Sydney.

I had a wonderful childhood, and it is full of the memories of which a childhood should be made: dad taking me for rides on his bike; thick white fog that didn't lift till noon; going to the Saturday matinee at the cinema (or 'The Pictures' as we called them then) and having change from a shilling to buy lollies; the smell of burning autumn leaves; a birthday present of a box of 12 Derwent coloured pencils (which I left on the school bus one day and never saw again); Easter egg hunts in the house in Albert St; early morning thunderstorms that meant a ride to school in the car; scorching summers buzzing with cicadas; listening to Life With Dexter* with dad by the light of the valves from the old valve radio; the smell of chlorine and suntan lotion at the swimming pool; hot Milo on the back steps with mum.

Some of these memories (but surprisingly few, all things considered) are recorded in photos taken on an old Box Brownie camera which I still have.

Now, snow is a rare sight in most places in Australia, and outside the main mountain ski fields of Perisher Valley in New South Wales and Mount Hotham in Victoria, snowfalls are consigned to a few brief days a year in places that get cold enough.

During my childhood Goulburn was cold enough twice.

Luckily for readers of The Cow, the creation of the Snow Bear is one of my memories that has been preserved on film for posterity. This shot was taken around 1963. That's my brother Steve on the left.

*Overseas visitors: here's an mp3 of an episode of Life With Dexter. You can have no better impression of what it was like to be in Australia in the early 1960s.

The Treacherous Pavement

2005-11-03T17:06:00.000+11:00

The Continuing Misfortunes of Simple Graphics Man ~

#7: The Treacherous Pavement (in which SGM loses his footing whilst imagining fresh apricots and cream)

This Is Not a Hoax

2005-11-01T19:15:00.000+11:00

Tetherd Cow Ahead Critical Thinking 101: Lesson #1

Over the last few weeks three people with whom I have some acquaintance have fallen for an internet scam of the 'Send This email to 20 People You Know and We'll Give You Something Really Valuable Entirely for Free' variety.

What is most perplexing is that these are all people who I would consider intelligent, savvy folk under normal circumstances, and who all have at least a modicum of internet experience.

I just can't comprehend why they, and so many others, fall for these blatantly obvious swindles.

OK, as a Tetherd Cow Ahead Public Service I'm going to inscribe an internet truism here. Got a felt pen? Write it on your mouse-mat:

★ If someone offers you something of material value for free in an email, IT IS A SCAM.

There is no exception to this rule. I have yet to hear of a single instance of someone being offered a freebie of any value and actually getting it.

The kinds of emails we're talking about come in a variety of different flavours, but they're basically riffs on the same theme. Sony is the latest victim of this hoax and they have even taken the fairly extreme measures of posting a warning on their site, and an example of the offending email. Let me reproduce it for you here:

Subject: FW: PSP GIVEAWAY!!!
Importance: High

Dear all

Sony is giving away PSP consoles "FREE"!! Sony is trying word-of-mouth advertising to introduce its products. And the reward you receive for advertising for them is a PSP free of cost!

To receive your free PSP all you need to do is send this email out to 20 people for a PSP value pack(see attached picture).

Within 2 weeks you will receive a free PSP! (They contact you via your email address).

What makes this so compelling? I don't know about you, but when I read this kind of thing, my critical thinking mechanism takes less than an attosecond to file it under Hogwash.

Nevertheless, this phenomenon intrigues me, so here's the deal: In an effort to understand what kind of person falls for these things I'm going to give a two-week all-expenses paid holiday, flying First Class to Vatulele to the first Cow reader who comments on this post.

Now. Hands up who believed me, even for an instant. (Put your hand down Jam, you're just being silly).

See? Just because it's written in proper words on the internet doesn't mean it's the truth.

BTW, if anyone from Sony is reading this, I didn't get my Playstation yet.

A Ghost Story

2005-11-01T05:58:00.000+11:00

This is a true story.

Many years ago, not all that long after I graduated from film school, my brother and I, and our friend Rod moved into the house in Cambridge St. It was a nice house. Big. It had a huge camphor laurel in the back yard, a tree that is a pest in this country, but is a beautiful tree, nevertheless. To our dismay the landlord eventually cut it down. But I digress.

On the day that we took possession of the keys, we walked around the house deciding where everything would go, and who would get what bedroom, as you do. The house was big enough that we had the luxury of an extra room that was to be a small music studio for my brother and I (Rod got the big double bedroom by way of compensation).

Steve and I stood in the new music room, discussing how we would fit it out. The room was on the second storey, and looked down past the dense green foliage of the camphor laurel and onto the garden of the neighbours next door. It was a beautiful sunny Sydney day in early autumn. There was a pause in the conversation. Quite clearly, from inside the room we both heard the sound of a dog panting. The room was small. There was no dog. Steve looked at me.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yep."

"Did it sound like a dog?"

"Yep."

We looked around the room. Steve did the Twilight Zone theme.

I would like to say that a cloud passed over the sun and the birds went quiet, but none of that happened. It continued on being a bright sunny day with chirping.

Some weeks later Steve was at home by himself. He was upstairs in the bathroom and was just about to open the door when he heard, quite plainly, the sound of a dog running up the stairs and along the corridor to stop just outside. Now Steve has never been that comfortable with dogs, so he was a little reluctant to open the door. He waited for a minute or two. There was no further sound. He opened the door slowly. There was nothing there (you knew I was going to say that, right?). His first thought was that someone had left the downstairs door open, and a dog had come in off the street and headed up the stairs. But you're already ahead of me - the front door was closed. There was no dog to be found anywhere in the house.

A few weeks passed. I had been at home, alone, for most of the morning. I was just about to go to work. I was in the dining room downstairs. I grabbed my bag, picked up my keys from the dining room table and headed off down the corridor that led past the stairs to the front door. Just as I drew level with the stairs, I heard, quite distinctly from a sort of cupboard that had been built in the stair recess, the scratching and clawing of an animal about the size of, oh, a medium sized dog. You know the sound - that sort of rapid-fire scratching that dogs do when they want to get at something. Now I had seen the inside of this cupboard. It was about a cubic metre in size, and, phantom dogs notwithstanding, was completely empty.

The scratching continued, quite audibly, for a few more seconds and then abruptly stopped. I was so completely freaked out, that I could not pass the stairs at all and had to leave the house by the back door (which entailed going down the side alley, climbing over a locked gate and going to the front door to lock it before I could leave).

I told everyone when I got home. We looked in the cupboard. There was nothing there. We all did the Twilight Zone theme.

Fast forward a month or so. Rod had met a new girl, Kim, and we had been having an introductory dinner. The mood was mellow and we had retired to the loungeroom (downstairs, toward the front of the house with a double doorway that opened out into the hall right at the bottom of the stairs). You can imagine the scene: a darkened room lit with a few candles, some glasses of what in those student days would undoubtedly have been cheap wine, and something vaguely hippy-trippy playing on the record player (no CDs in them days, youngsters).

We were all sitting facing inwards. Kim was facing the door. The chat meandered across many and various subjects, and eventually, there was a thoughtful lull. Kim, who was a fairly quiet girl, chose this gap in the conversation to observe:

"I didn't know you guys had a dog."

"Er... that's because we don't," I said.

"But I just saw one," she said.

A few minutes ago, she told us, she had seen quite plainly a small black and white dog like a Spaniel walk past the bottom of the stairs. The downstairs doors to the house were closed.

Clouds passed in front of the moon. The candles flickered. We drank some more wine. What else do you do?

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

The Cow wishes all our readers a spook-filled Samhain with at least as many treats as tricks!

Idea for the Halloween photoshopism from the gorgeous weirdpixie

More Bloody Vikings

2005-10-29T15:59:00.000+10:00

Well, faithful Cow-o-philes. Yesterday morning, as promised, I arose at the rooster's crow and headed off to Sydney's National Maritime Museum in search of Vikings. I arrived in plenty of time, not really being sure if Vikings are known for their punctuality. I think it is probably reasonable to suggest that being late for a raid on a Saxon village was poor form.

Indeed, there was already a horde of Vikings in full battle dress battering at the door when I got there. Well, I exaggerate for effect. There were one or two insouciant proto-Vikings hanging around the door with their friends. Aside from the beards and long hair there wasn't much to indicate they were Vikings. I've seen scarier at my local pub. It was a bit anti-climactic I have to say. Before I even got a chance to ask them about their references they were ushered inside by museum staff.

I don't remember ever being taught about the Vikings' penchant for bright blue duffel bags in school, but I guess I could have been shooting rubber bands at Chris O'Reilly at the time.

There was a brief interesting moment when one of the Vikings carried in a strange wooden box:

Then it was all over. I'm sorry to say, that's all that happened. I guess it is feasible that the armed naked dancing went on behind the closed museum doors, but alas, that remains only a speculation. Oh, as I was about to leave, I noticed another Viking unpacking something from his car:

He wasn't exactly a late Viking, since the other Vikings were all technically early but I got the distinct impression that if there was any pillaging and looting going on inside the museum, he was in for slim pickings.

I did find out that the Viking exhibition starts in November and today's successful applicants would be featuring for a few weeks. It is my further mission then, loyal readers, to go along once the show has opened and this time bring back proper evidence of Vikings alive and well (and hopefully armed and attired in full ferocity) in the Antipodes.

The Curse of the Chinese Merchant

2005-10-27T12:51:00.000+10:00

Brushes With Fame #3: Brandon Lee

In the biographical film Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story Bruce Lee's father inadvertently angers a Chinese merchant who puts a curse on him to the effect that his son, and his son's sons will die untimely deaths. In the film, Lee dreams of a fearsome supernatural warrior who comes to hunt him down, and then in turn comes for his son. There are touching scenes between Lee and his little boy Brandon in which the fearful father warns the son about the dream warrior who will try to and take his life prematurely. And how he must always be on his guard.

Bruce Lee died in unusual circumstances just after completing his film Enter the Dragon at the age of 32.

In 1993 I travelled to the US to pick up my theremin and to visit my friend Alex in North Carolina where he was directing the feature film of Jame's O'Barr's illustrated novel The Crow. Brandon Lee had been cast as Eric Draven a rock singer who, along with his young fiancee Shelley, is murdered on the night before Halloween. One year later he returns from the dead, and as the eponymous Crow visits revenge upon the killers.

I met Brandon and his fiancee Eliza very briefly one evening when I was on the set. He was charming and unaffected and very charismatic. He and Eliza, who were due to be married after the film was completed, seemed happy and comfortable in one another's company. I remember thinking that young, good looking people like Brandon almost seem supernaturally invincible, which was fitting, given the part he was playing in the film.

Tragically, a week later, Brandon Lee was dead, the unfortunate victim of a simple stunt gunshot which through a combination of unattributable negligence and bad luck went horribly wrong. He was 27 years old.

It is, in my mind, in keeping with the flow of coincidence that every year at this time Brandon returns in the guise of The Crow in theatres and on tv screens across the planet. Not to exact vengeance, for that is the act of a small soul, but instead to rekindle the Spark of Dark Romance that is forever Halloween. Oh that any of us should serve so grand a purpose.

Soylent Green Is People

2005-10-26T13:58:00.000+10:00

This just in from my friend Bronni.* The following email conversation then ensued:

On 26/10/2005, at 1:52 PM, Bronwyn wrote:

It's pretty damn weird if you ask me....even if it isn't made out of Linda McCartney, why anyone would buy health food recommended by a dead person is beyond me. Call me old fashioned.

On 26/10/05 1:56 PM, Peter wrote:

Colonel Sanders and Linda McCartney should get together and form a chain called 'It Tastes Like Chicken'

On 26/10/2005, at 2:03 PM, Bronwyn wrote:

Or a band, "It Sounds Like Chicken" or a double act "It Sounds Like Chicken" with WINGS.

On 26/10/05 2:06 PM, Peter wrote:

Or just 'Chicken Wings' maybe.

It would certainly give new meaning to 'Finger Lickin' Good!'

*Who also gets credit for the headline. See, I just steal all my wit from other people who don't have blogs.

All I Want for Xmas...

2005-10-25T09:03:00.000+10:00

Hammacher Schlemmer is offering for sale a life-size walking and talking remote controlled 'Robbie the Robot'.

Now there's the Yuletide gift for the Man Who Has Everything. If any of you have a spare $US49,999.95 I'm sure I can wrangle a big enough Christmas stocking.

I'm sure you all know that Robbie first came to fame in the wonderful Forbidden Planet and has stayed in the zeitgeist ever since. The Hammacher Schlemmer replica offers, among other things the following features:

The robot is pre-programmed to deliver his famous lines from the original movie, and the remote control allows you to adjust the robot’s volume, track selection, and start and stop functions. Robby can also be prompted to move his computer relay assembly, rotate his servo-controlled head, spin his planetary gyro stabilizers, and rotate his scanners while his various lights flash. The integral audio system produces CD-quality sound projected from a directional speaker system in the head and synchronized with the neon tube lights...

He'd be a nice complement to my toaster, dontcha think?

Thanks to the Red Ferret Journal, where I read about this first.

Pass The Mead

2005-10-23T13:19:00.000+10:00

Nurse Myra took great delight in bringing to my attention this Wanted ad from Saturday's Sydney Morning Herald. It reads:

Wanted

Viking Warriors

Calling all Erik the Reds, Odins, Thors and Beowulfs. Several 'Viking warriors' required for two weeks work. Authentic Viking appearance and extensive knowledge of Viking culture preferred. Must have own complete Viking costume including arms and armour. Historical re-enactment experience preferred.

Auditions 9.30 am Friday 28 October 2005.
Australian National Maritime Museum, Darling Harbour. Applicants requested to be in full costume. Please bring references.

Valhalla Awaits. Beserkers† need not apply.

I don't know what thrills me the most: that applicants must arrive in full costume, or that they are expected to bring references!

Man, I really want to read those references. I imagine a typical one would go something like this:

To Whom it May Concern

Thangbrand Breiðskeggr has manned an oar in my longship for six months and I have found him to be a fine and upstanding fellow, if somewhat strongly smelling. His raping and pillaging skills are eclipsed only by his capacity for quaffing prodigous quantities of ale and his proficiency at knatteleik.

I think I can say that most of us here on the Mjöksiglandi Spörr will be sad to see Thangbrand go, but Odin knows that he is destined for bigger and better things.

I wish him every success in his future endeavours and I am sure that if he can control his temper and avoid further beheadings of his co-workers he will be a valuable addition to any workplace that will have him.

Yours &c
Erik Breiðrböllr

Dedicated readers of The Cow will have by now realised where I'm heading with all this. A bunch of Vikings turning up at the Maritime Museum in costume on Friday, and me with time on my hands as of Wednesday... Yes, that's right, not only do you get to read about it but I'm going to go get you some pictures.

I was especially motivated when I read the following description of Viking dances on Regia Anglorum:

"Several sources mention warriors performing acrobatic dances (often naked), whilst wielding weapons, usually in connection with the cult of Odin."

I don't know about you, but when I imagine yer typical Viking performing an acrobatic dance, fully armed and naked my brain has a sort of vodka-and-curdled-yoghurt-through-the-nose hysterical spasm.

Oh please let these guys on Friday be really dedicated.

†Tsk. You'd think that someone would check an unfamiliar word like 'berserker' before cavalierly whacking a spelling error up for all the world to see. Especially when they're appealing to people with extensive knowledge of Viking culture...

It's All About Meme

2005-10-20T20:47:00.000+10:00

Oh very well. Everybody else is doing it, who am I to resist blogging peer pressure? I include my own riffs.

Seven Things

7 Things I Can Do:

• Grow trees
• Tell a good ghost story
• Cook perfect roast chicken
• Prepare absinthe correctly (no, you don't set it on fire)
• Play mahjongg
• Write music and make money from it
• Understand the theories of emergent complexity
• Make beautiful images

7 Things I Can't Do

• Reliably count to seven
• Fake any interest in sport
• Speak a foreign language (unless you count Thermian)
• Make smalltalk with very boring people
• Let bad punctuation go without comment
• Skin a rabbit
• Make an omelette without breaking eggs

7 Things That Scare Me

• Travelling on planes
• Dying of a prolonged disease
• That anyone takes Intelligent Design seriously
• The thought of biological warfare
• That so many people seem to like Big Brother
• Porcelain dolls with moving eyes
• The weird clicking sound that Grandma makes

7 Things That Don't Scare Me

• Speaking in public
• Horror movies
• Being abducted by aliens
• Speaking my mind
• Intelligent women
• Thunderstorms
• Imagination

7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

• See attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion and C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate.
• Smell the air of the Paleozoic
• Get a tattoo
• Make an astounding discovery
• Get a cybernetic augmentation
• Hear my music played as Muzak in a mall
• Not die

7 Random Facts About Me:

• I have a seven inch scar down my right wrist
• My ancestry can be traced to Devonshire in the 15th Century
• I have had one of my compositions played by a 70 piece orchestra
• I have seven goldfish in a pond in my backyard
• I once saw someone throw themselves under a train
• I have experienced all five senses in my dreams
• My stereo visual acuity is better than 99%

Squeak Up

2005-10-19T06:41:00.000+10:00

Stefan Marti at MIT's Media Lab Speech Interface Group has come up with a idea he calls the Autonomous Active Intermediary. This is essentially a device that acts as a facilitator between a person and their communications network. To this end, Stefan has come up with The Cellular Squirrel, an agent that sits between you and your mobile phone.

The basic concept goes something like this: mobile phones are very intrusive and distracting and integrating them into your personal situations is never elegant. So why not do something really natural and familiar to everybody, like have a squirrel take your calls!

This is how Stefan puts it:

The conversational agent is able to converse with caller and callee—at the same time, mediating between them, and possibly suggesting modality crossovers. It deals with incoming communication attempts when the user cannot or does not want to. It's a dual conversational agent since it can converse with both user and caller simultaneously, mediating between them.

Oh, I can really see how that's going to turn out...

Caller: Hello, is that Pete?

Squirrel: No, this is his squirrel.

Caller: His squirrel? O-o-k-a-a-y... can I talk to Pete?

Squirrel: What's it about? He's pretty busy.

Caller: Um, I'd really rather discuss this with him than with a squirrel.

Squirrel (sighs): Oh very well, I'll see if he can talk to you.

Squirrel (to Pete): Hey dude, there's some glue-sniffer on the line, too good to talk to a squirrel. Whaddya want me to do?

Pete: I'm busy nailing up this wainscotting, can you take a message?

Squirrel (to Pete): Sure chief, anything you say.

Squirrel (to caller): Well nuts to you fella - he says he don't want to talk jive with no squirrel-hater. State your business or shuffle off to Buffalo.

I don't want to seem like I'm completely ridiculing this idea. I can see how it could be really cool. One of the (many) things I like about Philip Pullman's amazing 'His Dark Materials' books is the animal daemons that Lyra and her folk have with them always. I'd really like a little animal familiar, especially in this enlightened time when nobody holds silly superstitious beliefs that can get you hung as a witch. Much.

I kind of fancy a parrot, myself, it being in keeping with my piratical bent & all. It obviously leapt pretty smartly into Stefan's mind also, because he already has a working prototype of one of those as well:

But for Stefan, the squirrel is obviously the agent du jour. I have to admit, it has some surreal cachet. I long to be able to say:

"Hey man, good to see you! We should do lunch. I'll get my squirrel to talk to your squirrel and we'll sort something out!"

eieio

2005-10-18T05:37:00.000+10:00

t-shirt humor.com

The Metropolis

2005-10-16T08:23:00.000+10:00

A couple of days ago my toaster went on the blink in a bizarre red beans and rice incident.* It is one of the frustrating things of this modern age that when domestic appliances break down it is often more expensive to have them repaired than to replace them. With toasters this is evidently always the case as I have learned from past experience. So instead of even bothering to get a repair quote this time, I just gritted my teeth and headed off to David Jones to find a new one. My previous toaster was a Russell Hobbs two slice and I was completely happy with it. It did not for a moment occur to me that what I really needed was The Metropolis.

Film aficionados are aware that the amazing design in Fritz Lang's cinematic masterpiece Metropolis extends to all details of the production including the character props such as watches, clocks, jewellery and haberdashery, but it is rarely noted that even the kitchen appliances in the film are carefully crafted to complement Lang's futuristic vision. It is said that Lang himself, unhappy with the original maquettes for the toasters and blenders in the film, took an active part in their realisation.

Rough sketches of the toaster shown in the scene above still survive, penned by the unmistakeable hand of a director with a thousand things on his mind, but driven to perfect even the tiniest detail.

Now, after lengthy negotiations to secure access to these sketches, Italian company DeLonghi has been able to to create an almost perfect replica of one of Lang's favourite props.

I believe that DeLonghi also intend to release a blender modelled on the one that features in the famous sequence with the evil scientist Rottwang and the electrical activation of his robotic Maria. The company is being very secretive about it, so details are hard to come by, but you can rest assured that when the news breaks you will hear about it first here on The Cow.

*Don't ask.

What I Do

2005-10-14T19:02:00.000+10:00

When you go to see a film, most of the sound you hear is not the sound that was happening when the camera was rolling. In fact, it is probably accurate to say that in modern motion pictures, the only sound you can be sure was recorded at the same time the pictures were shot, is the dialogue. Sometimes not even that.

This comes as a surprise to many people, mostly because no-one has any cause to think that the sound is made by anything other than what they are seeing on the screen.

But it isn't. Nearly everything you hear is created by the post production sound department after the fact. There are numerous reasons for this, but it is largely because the stuff that happens on the location rarely sounds the way we want an audience to hear it.

So we rebuild it all to our liking. You will never be aware of this, though, because we post-production sound people are wizards. You will only ever notice what we do if we do it badly.

I am currently involved in the post production sound for Ray Lawrence's new feature film 'Jindabyne'. Today we finished the sound effect mix. Post production sound mixes typically involve 5 major elements: The dialogue, the atmospheres, the sound effects, the music and the Foley.

♦Dialogue: All the things the actors say. This includes words spoken by the main cast, the extras, offscreen characters and people speaking on tv or radio. Anything with human voice. This is mostly dialogue recorded on the set, but includes ADR (Automated Dialogue Replacement - a term that has lost most of its meaning but still sticks), loop group (crowds & people in the background) and breathing and other vocal sounds.

♦Atmospheres: All the environments of the film - room ambiences, traffic backgrounds, wind, rain, birds and so forth. Any sounds that are not dialogue and not on-screen sound effects.

♦Sound Effects: Anything you see happening on screen that is not an environmental sound. Also off-screen sounds that directly refer to action happening on the screen (such as a phone ringing in another room that an actor reacts to).

♦Music: The score for the film, but also any music that might be happening within the film's reality, such as Muzak in a mall, or a jukebox in a pub.

♦Foley: Footsteps, clothing noise and other sounds the actor's 'person' makes, such as picking up or putting down objects.

These days all this material is prepared in what is known as Dolby 5.1 format - 6 channel sound. This sound is arranged as Left, Centre and Right channels across the front of the screen, Left Surround and Right Surround behind the audience, and LFE, or Low Frequency Extension, which adds the very deep bass tones you might find in thunder or explosions or in some music.

This means that for some single sounds in our mix we might need six independant tracks to create one effect. On 'Jindabyne' we are running something in the order of 150 - 180 tracks of sound.

There are eight people working in the sound crew: A post production sound supervisor/sound designer, a dialogue editor, two sound designer/sound editors, two Foley personnel, a sound editing assistant, and a post production sound mixer. This is a small crew, but representative of most Australian films.

We work long days in a big darkened room that is designed to have the acoustics of a typical cinema.

I'm not allowed to tell you anything about 'Jindabyne', but I can say that I think it is a very fine film indeed, and I am very proud of our sound work. I hope that when you see it in the cinema you don't notice a thing we've done.

2005-10-14T08:15:00.000+10:00

Another curio from Mysterious Corner. This is a little birdy button that tweets when you press it.

I wish I could tell you a story about it, but again, I can't remember where it came from.

Jeepers Creepers

2005-10-10T09:18:00.000+10:00

This creepy and beautiful little movie made by 1st Avenue Machine is like something snipped from a nature doco about an alien world. Cute music too.

IQ

2005-10-08T13:57:00.000+10:00

Spam Observations #16

Someone named Green* sends me this today:

Subject: Only Humans with an IQ of at least 120 are allowed to open this Message

I have no idea what my IQ is but I open it anyway†. Nothing happens to me. So far so good. Either my IQ is over 120 or I'm scamming something. w00t!

The text of the message goes on to say:

Only Humans with an IQ of at least 120 are allowed to: click here

Well they haven't tumbled to my clever masquerade, and who can tell what treasures await me, so I click there. My browser opens a web page with an error message. Oh, how disappointing, and yet somehow entirely predictable, because... the next part of the email says:

If you can't open, use this freeware: click here

Oooh. Golly gosh, I wonder what will happen when I click on this link, which, when I run my mouse over it, says: www.pleasescrewmeroyallyrightuptheass.com/ouch/iloveit.zip. Or maybe it is www.pleaseinfectmycomputerwithyourfoulvirus/yes/doitnow.zip: it's a bit hard to read, my eyes are so blurry with the excitement of having convinced complete strangers of my superior IQ. I am such a k3wl and krafty haxx0r. Oh the exhilaration of the life of the l337! ph33r m3h n00bs!

I click the link and whaddya know, a file starts to download. Excellent d00d. sploitz or warez 4 sure! pr0n at least!

So here it is... jaja!!! It's something called 'MyDoom'‡. w00t! A game. k3wl!

Oh wait... It's an .exe file! Even with my m4d sk1llz I can't open it on a Mac.

suxx0r!!! If only I had a PC who knows what adventures I could be having right now!**

*Named Green, or perhaps of that colour. My previous experience with spammers in the amphibian trade admits various possibilities.

†WARNING: This kind of experiment is suitable only for adventurous idiots with a Macintosh. PC users should definitely NOT open these kinds of emails no matter what they think their IQ is.

‡Lie for comic effect.

**Smug Macintosh User Gloating††

††d00d!! A recursive acronym. Is that cool or what?

Mysterious Corner

2005-10-06T18:54:00.000+10:00

In the corner of my loungeroom is a small shelf which for possibly understandable reasons has come to be dubbed 'Mysterious Corner'. It is laden with all manner of arcane trinkets, and I thought I might share a few of them with readers of The Cow. Today I have for your delectation Jesus Saves:

It's a money box, if you didn't pick that up. I can't remember where it came from... (Cissy Strutt?). It has remained empty since I've had it. I'm not sure if there is anything allegorical in that.