This Post is Rated M for Mature

There's a nice article in the NYTimes (free reg. req.) about swearing. There's a good overview of some work done on what parts of the brain generate curses and how it is a fixture of human speech ever since the dawn of homo sapiens. But I was rather disturbed at a passage near the beginning of the article:

"Incensed by what it sees as a virtual pandemic of verbal vulgarity issuing from the diverse likes of Howard Stern, Bono of U2 and Robert Novak, the United
States Senate is poised to consider a bill that would sharply increase the penalty for obscenity on the air.

By raising the fines that would be levied against offending broadcasters some fifteenfold, to a fee of about $500,000 per crudity broadcast, and by threatening to revoke the licenses of repeat polluters, the Senate seeks to return to the public square the gentler tenor of yesteryear, when seldom were heard any scurrilous words, and famous guys were not foul mouthed all day."

If ever you doubted the good old US of A was actually the US of Puritanical Manicas, now is the time to repent. Cast away those doubts and come to the light! Suggesting that profanities be limited on pukishly wholesome family programming is one thing but putting it into law is, frankly, fucking ridonculous. While we're on the subject and since I can say what I want: fuck fuck fuckity fuck fucking FUCK ass shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! Suck it, Senate!

And it's not like the censoring measure reallys work either. The infamous bleeps on TV or radio are almost more profane and titillating than the actual swears themselves. If swearing is bad enough as it is, why wrap it in more taboo? Add to that the fact that most bleeps cover only the vowels and you have a farce of a cover up. Think about the last time you heard somebody say shblipt on the Radio or seeing Jon Stewart say "cobleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepck". Lewis Black also brings up a valid point: Bono never said "Fuck". He said "fook". What is "fook" anyway?

In the end, curses aren't specific words. There's nothing about about the sound or the words per se that makes them curses. If congress wants to ban specific words, they will have to revise the bill every few years to keep up with the current fashion in profanities. But what happens to the old words? Are they desanitized? And if they do not pursue this irrational course of action and instead aim for the more retarded but logical goal of prohibiting a context of swearing, then they are really out of their fooking minds.

So which is it going to be, you puritanical crazies? Do we arbitrarily designate certain words as swear words and forbid them (can I still say "Vaseline"?) or do we disallow swearing altogether, because it certainly doesn't seem like you are going to leave us alone.

Now everyone all together, say it with me:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!
(Try it. You'll like it.)

More Driving

I was doing a lot of driving related to moving but I've also been doing a lot of driving for work. I spend every other week in San Jose (300 miles away from Santa Barbara) being a techie rather than an academic. Yes, I'm like geek^2. Anyway, there's really no point to this post except some rambling complaints about my relationship to driving.

I don't like driving long distances on roads that don't have twists and turns.
I don't like people who do not realize that on a two lane highway, the left lane is not the "fast lane". It is the "passing lane". Used to pass people. So if you're going to drive as fast as the person in the normal lane to the right, use the normal lane so as to avoid forming a moving roadblock!
I don't like that my butt hurts about 75 minutes into any drive. Being really skinny isn't always advantageous.
I love to drive with the top down but the Californian sun can be brutal.
I don't like that US roads aren't racetrack-flat like the autobahn.
On second thought, I'm rather disappointed that all roads aren't like race tracks. With no other cars on them. And with soft walls made of cotton candy!
It's the twenty first freaking century! Where's teleportation?

Yes, boohoo, I am complaining about trifling trivialities on drives in a convertible in sunny California. Let the stoning begin.

Sonic Addiction

You know what I think would be a great name for a band? Volume 26.

Anyway, a few weeks back in Shanghai, I met a brother of an uncle who wanted to buy a piano for his daughter. The Chinese way of getting things done is to find somebody in the family (or the friend of somebody in the family) who is an expert at what you want and then get their advice on it. So it was I got "dragged" into selecting a piano for this family. I say "dragged" because testing and selecting a piano for me is like a kid in a candy store. After testing out all the lower echelon selections and fulfilling my blood oath at a Yamaha dealership, I went next door to a Steinway dealership. Now excuse me as I wax enthusiastic, anthropomorphic, and avec fromage.

Heaven! And with Saint Peter nowhere in sight! Instead, I ask an angel (presumedly) if I could try out the pianos. She says yes. That makes her an angel, which means I am definitely in heaven. Working my way from the front of the store to the back, I alight my fingers upon keys connected to soundboards of increasing size and greater sound quality. Near the back of the store is a glass room with omgomgomg!!!

Steinway D 9' Concert Grand!

My heart jumps up to my right scapula and the rest of my internal organs instantly realign to compensate. I utter a barely contained request to the angel if I could try out the piano.

Ambiguous response, but it sounds positive. No. Impossible. How can anyone waltz in an expect to be given permission to play on the concert grand? I ask again, half cursing at myself for my own stupidity. Why not assume a yes and then take it from there? Oh well, it can't hurt to hear the response.

YES!

Angel or no she was no longer of any consequence to my world. Sit down on the bench. No. Must sit straighter. This piano deserves the best that I can give. Touch middle C with a firm but gentle middle finger of the right hand. Instant bliss. The time for slow, focused appreciation of sound was over. Fast forward to drawing torrents of sound out of the keyboard and boy does it deliver. The treble is bright, sharp, but does not grate on the ears. The bass is deeper than the reaches of interstellar space and just as wide and expansive. In short, this is what I idealize when I think of the sound of a piano.

I tried out a variety of pieces on that divine beast and eventually left my temporary steed giddy with delight but also sad at the impending departure. It was love at first hearing and our short relationship was passionate. I can only look forward to the day when we'll meet again.

Moving Day 3

Assembling so much furniture brings with it an appreciation for the clean logic that Ikea furniture assembly possesses. From my personal experience, most Ikea furniture goes together really quickly, is reasonably sturdy for something so resembling Legos, and much of the building process is intuitive. Compare this with a non-Ikea wine rack which came with no instructions and with no indication of front/back orientation. Wouldn't be so bad if I didn't find out the hard way that there was a specific orientation I had to follow.

So, three Cheers for Ikea!

Hip hip, cheap!
Hip hip, clean lines!
Hip hip, 20 Swedish meatballs with potatoes for only $5.99!

Moving Day 2

In the past 5 days I have driven:

On Saturday,
From Santa Barbara to Redondo Beach (about 100 miles)

On Sunday,
From Redondo Beach to Capistrano Beach (about 60 miles)
From Capistrano Beach to USC main campus (about 60 miles)
From USC main campus to Pasadena (about 25 miles)
From Pasadena to Burbank (about 15 miles)
From Burbank to USC main campus (about 20 miles)
From USC main campus to Carson (about 10 miles)
From Carson to Santa Barbara (about 110 miles)

On Monday:
Back and forth a few times between sublet and new apartment.

On Tuesday:
More back and forth betwen sublet and new apartment.

On Wednesday,
From Santa Barbara to Carson (about 110 miles)
From Carson to Capistrano Beach (about 50 miles)
From Capistrano Beach to Santa Barbara (about 160 miles)

Total Distance: 1 bajillion kilofatigues

Moving Day 1

Moving, physically. Wondering if my new apartment will be inspire me to refresh my writing. Realistically, it'll take up more of my time and energy that should be spent on writing but who can resist decorating and replacing ugly light fixtures with halogen pendants? Not me.

Mind Your Own Philanthropy

In the aftermath of Katrina, as after any disaster, there are plenty of people who devote their own time and energies to helping the survivors. Every little bit does help, often times regardless of the helper's sincerity. For a family who has lost everything, a meal is ultimately a meal whether it is cooked by the Red Cross, an altruistic samaritan, or a celebrity looking for some extra exposure.[1] Some people, however, are not content with their own efforts but feel the need to convert others. I'm not a big fan of these people.

I recently saw a posting on an internet forum wondering why people in Santa Barbara weren't making more posts on this forum and banding together to help the survivors of Katrina. That's all well and good except the poster forgot a few things:
1) Not many people read the forum he posted on. It follows that even for people who have looked at this forum as a way to communicate, they probably would have (and should have) decided that it was not an effective method to get the message across.
2) People who are helping are busy doing that, helping, not reading on the 'net.
3) What is the poster doing posting these exhortations instead of actually doing something?

After so many tragedies, there are people who talk, complain, analyze but ultimately do nothing. Not only that, they blindly try to impose their own vague sense of right and wrong on others around them. It's not a terribly far cry from blindly evangelical religious fanatics and their often times narrow minded deeds. Trying to get others to rally around a cause is understandable but beating them with your own moral tonfa is not acceptable to me.