I pissed on the man who called me a dog. Why was he so surprised?
--Diogenes the Cynic

Time is not quantized.

I have very little to add, except that experience is only plain and simple on its uppermost level. We measure space...with other measures of space, time with other measures of time, and assume we're doing something. One of the two constants we've found is one of speed, which means that time and space can be different for different observers even as we measure that speed with time and space. Of course, the wonderful thing about light is that we can measure its speed, no matter how we may be bobbing along, and get the same answer.

UPDATE: The experiment seems to prove as well that space is not quantized, which is good for Relativity.

A Brief Defense of the Kantian Conception of Space as the a
Priori Form of Outer Intuition

At one time, the certainty of Euclid's propositions, and their universality, were thought to prove that Kant had been right to assume that space was a quality which we imposed on our perceptions. Since geometry was so rigorous, it was held up as the perfect example of a priori knowledge; that is, knowledge which requires nothing of experience to prove or obtain. No one (well, no one sensible) denied that experience occasioned the discovery of this knowledge, whether that experience was that of the ancient Greeks measuring the earth, or the axiom-dulled student staring at chalked diagrams in the classroom.

Space was a counter-part to all this geometric certainty. Geometry, after all, was how we measured it. "...[I]n order that certain sensations be referred to something outside me...and similarly that I may represent them as outside and alongside one another...the representation of space must be pre-supposed" Kant states in his Critique of Pure Reason. Geometric knowledge and the a priori quality of space were intertwined, and thought to be perfect.

All this changed with the advent of non-Euclidean (then anti-Euclidean or pangeometry or Absolute) geometry. Geometers had long despised Euclid's fifth Postulate, known as the Parallel Postulate, which states that

if a straight line falling on two straight lines make the interior angles on the same side less than two right angles, the two straight lines, if produced indefinitely, meet on that side on which are the angles less than two right angles.

It needed proof, they said, which was true, but no one had yet succeeded. Proclus, Nasir-Eddin, Vitale, and Wallis tried and failed. Then came the non-Euclideans.

The Parallel Postulate was unnecessary, they claimed. And as they experimented in a geometry without it, they found new forms of space. In non-Euclidean geometry, space can be curved. Now, no one had every thought of space itself as having properties; it was just there so that things could be alongside one another, as time was just there so that things could change. This discovery was a revolution. As in many revolutions, the baby was thrown out with the bath-water.

[T]herefore space is only a special case of a three-fold extensive magnitude. From this, however, it follows of necessity, that the propositions of geometry cannot be deduced from general magnitude-ideas, but that those peculiarities through which space distinguishes itself from other thinkable threefold extended magnitudes can only be gotten of experience. [italics mine] Hence arises the problem, to find the simplest facts from which the metrical relations of space are determinable--a problem which from the nature of the thing is not fully determinate; for there may be obtained several systems of simple facts which suffice to determine the metrics of space; that of Euclid as weightiest is for the present aim made fundamental. These facts are, as all facts, not necessary, but only of empirical certainty; they are hypotheses.

Riemann, in his inaugural dissertation "Ueber die Hypothesen welche der Geometrie zu Grunde liegen". If knowledge of space can only be gotten through experience; if space as we perceive it is only one of a number of thinkable threefold magnitudes (tenfold, string theorists!): how can it be called a priori?

Easily enough, as it turns out. Simply because experience is the occasion upon which we learn which magnitude space follows, does not mean that experience defines which magnitude space follows. Space is still, presumably, universal (everyone lives in the same space, which follows the same rules) and necessary (no one has outer intuition without it). If universal and necessary, then a priori.

What non-Euclidean geometry had done was to explain the faults in Euclid, not in geometry. Space may well be more complex than the featureless void we had imagined it to be, but why then should we have assumed it so simple? The a priori may well be exceedingly complex. As someone once pointed out, if you assume that space does not condition things, take a knife and a potato and cut a seven-edged solid. I'll go further: if you assume space does not condition things, what good is it? If it is the form of outer intuition, we ought not to be surprised when it insists on forming things its own way.

Kant may not have conceived of a space as odd as the one in which we live. But his arguments remain convincing. Moreover, please note that he makes no claims as to where the a priori forms of intuition come from. He never says that they descend from some spirit world; they might well have simply evolved. It's impossible to say.

Disappointingly formulaic interview with Pamela Dean in Geek World. Still better than nothing.

All right, it isn't my birthday. But I wanted to take this article to task for suggesting that free trade is enough to stop war. Anybody remember World War I? It was considered an absurdity that states so intertwined with each other would risk so much in war. We've heard the same story time and again, as states which traded amongst themselves decide more may be gained with warfare. The only time states don't fight--and here I except a few, a very few states in all of history--is when they think they'll lose. It's not yet time to trade with our enemies. It's time to convince them that if they fight, they will die. Sans virgins.

Bloodthirsty way to return, but there it is.

I should add that I'm a big fan of getting rid of protectionism, particularly (at the moment) in the steel and agricultural industries. But to claim it a panacea is either to be ignorant of history, or willfully to ignore it.

After I recovered from my virus, my computer contracted its own. I have decided to make this event a sign; combined with the continued descent of this blog's brow, it tells me to take a break. I'll post again on my birthday, when I have enough intelligent thoughts stored up to make it look like I have at least one a day.

No comment.

What pisses you off?

Created by ptocheia

Urg. Still sick. I went to class, and practiced sidekick 'til my hips burned, then did some two-on-one sparring, against a blue belt and a white belt. Two-on-one is where people get hurt, and it's usually not the one. He's bouncing around, madly trying to keep one person behind the other, while deflecting the nearer attacker's blows. This movement doesn't leave much room for error, and if he gets too excited, it's easy for him to move too fast too hard, and really smack somebody. We survived with minor injuries.

All right, Internet. Brace yourself for my news.

I am engaged. To an impossibly lovely woman, who makes me happier than I knew was possible. She also makes me clean the bathroom, but that's a small price to pay.

Being engaged is wonderful, of course, but it seems to consist mainly of planning a wedding, which is less fun than eye surgery. And of course, when I find certain pages on my history, it gives me the jibblies.

Sick. I am sick. Never has the term Odious better applied to my mucous-oozing, phlegm-rattling, bleary-eyed, dim-witted self. Naturally, I have a three hour martial arts class today. Miss it? Never! Duff Gardens...hoorah!

My view of Mars was obscured by rainclouds. They thought they'd beaten me, but there's no rain in space, bastards.

Arts and Letters Daily. Humanism? No. Yes.

Of course, from my point of view this argument is like two guys arguing about whether their space aliens abductors were green or grey.

Now the unbelievers among you can see the truth.

Friedrich of 2 Blowhards comments on Self magazine. I myself am an enormous fan of Clueless, and consider it the best film adaptation of Emma yet. But I'd rather discuss the origin of the attitude he decries.

To view health as the only important quality is a perfectly logical conclusion--based on materialist premises. If there is no spirit, there is no benefit to morality except to improve health and increase one's chances of breeding successfully; indeed, those two criteria define morality. A good action is one which increases personal well-being or the well-being of descendants--and well-being is limited to bodily health.

And on those two Self magazine has its sights. Beauty is a far greater attractor of a potential mate than any other factor, and so Self emphasizes looks. Of course, one's mate will tend to leave if one demonstrates mental instability, so being happy ("carefree") becomes important. This problem affects women more, so while we see men's magazines about beauty, mental health is seldom discussed.

This view of morality-as-health has more serious results than causing people to worry more about their weight than, say, their soul. I read an article some time ago (this will be a link if I can again track it down) about the attempt to reform criminals by demonstrating that their actions were irrational; that is, that they were less likely to succeed through an illegal strategy than a legal one. Leaving aside the questionable assumption (that legal methods are more rewarding), this argument seems to me to teach a single lesson: don't get caught. If the wrongness of an action is defined solely by its effects on my physical well-being, I have an obligation--a moral obligation--to succeed in my illegal doings and get off scot free, not to restrain myself.

They believe that all the evil results of human crime are the results of the system that calls it crime. They do not believe that the crime creates the punishment. They believe that the punishment has created the crime. They believe that if a man seduced seven women he would naturally walk away as blameless as the flowers of spring. They believe that if a man picked a pocket he would naturally feel exquisitely good.

G. K. Chesterton

The reform program was an abyssmal failure, as I recall, with recidivist rates higher than the control group, who received no counseling. Character, as Mr. Moody once observed, is what you are in the dark.

I have seldom been prouder or more sure of my Welsh ancestry. A crossbow has style.

Today I finally discovered a potential use for my crescent kick. I've never been terribly impressed with it as a technique; others exist which follow the same line, with more power and a better striking surface. Moreover, I'm unable to get mine above solar plexus height without losing most of the benefits--and I don't like high kicks anyway. Sour grapes? Maybe, but also practicality. High kicks get grabbed.

Which got me thinking about the crescent kick. What if I were fighting a grabber, who was looking for a leg down with which to take me? My standard feeling is, "Oh, you want to use both hands (one won't be enough) to control one of my legs? Okay, but here's one of mine in your eye/collarbone/ear/jaw/solar plexus/floating ribs!" But a good wrestler could take me down fast enough to prevent my counter.

This is where the crescent kick comes in. If I telegraph it, to draw a grab (Attack By Drawing), I can prevent the grab from succeeding by striking at the exposed hand with the unexpected horizontal motion of the kick, as opposed to the vertical motion of a front kick. Having opened up my opponent's guard in this way, I consider my options and inflict some damage.

I have news. The Internet can't handle it right now, but I may share it later. This is what's known as a "teaser".

UPDATE: Remember "if you have to ask, it isn't shock and awe"? Keep that in mind.

I recently purchased The Scourge of the Dark Continent, by James Loriega. It's a guide to the martial use of the African sjambok, as the subtitle would suggest ("the martial use of the African sjambok"). It's excellent on the basics of sjambok use, but really only enters into detail regarding the history of the weapon. For the martial uses the book describes, some familiarity with whips or sticks, or for preference both, would be necessary to understand the strikes he describes. But the three guards are there, and the lines of attacks are well described, as well as the intended result (generally, pain).

He also discusses the use of the sjambok with another weapon, especially a knife, and described how such a combination shores up the sjambok's weakness. The sjambok, while wonderful at long range, and effective close up, is not very useful in the middle distance, although certain strikes can wrap around the target to hit unprotected areas. But adding a knife allows you to use the sjambok to keep them at long distance against the threat of a close to short, where either weapon can come into play with great speed and effectiveness.

Mr. Loriega includes tips on customizing your sjambok, and addresses the chief problem of the synthetics: the agonizingly poorly designed handle. The problem is not that the handle is malformed or likely to slip from your hand; it's just painful to hold. Which is not a good thing; I want the painful end to be the other one, the one encountered by my victim...er, assailant.

In the heat of composition I find that I have inadvertently allowed myself to assume the form of a large centipede.
--C. S. Lewis

You are Raskolnikov of "Crime and
Punishment". You are a student who has
dropped out of college, cosumed with your
ideas, much to the concern of your family and
friends. What's interesting you the most right
now is your idea of surpassing morality, and
becoming a "superman". However, your
love of a religious prostitute, your concern
for your sister, and your guilty conscience
indicates that there is morality. Watch out for
urbane police inspectors!


Which Dostoyevsky protagonist are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

This is not a quiz that can end well.

I attended Katya Kabanova last night, whch I'm not going to review, except to say that it was surpassingly lovely, and excited fear and pity. Also, Patricia Risley, who is beautiful and talented and played Dorabella in Cosi and Varvara last night, cannot keep her dress down to save her life.

Further Adventures of the Family Mustelidae

Someone had recently killed a skunk on the way home. It's surprising how pleasant the smell is. It's complex, an animal smell opposed to the faked flowers and spices we surround ourselves with; I can tell why civet became popular as a perfume, if it's like this scent. It is, I've decided, to the nose as red wine just starting on its way to vinegar is to the palate. Unmistakeable, at first experience both intriguing and unsettling.

I've never been able to guess if the scent of such road-kills is an involuntary reaction after death, like people emptying their bowels, or if the skunk has one brief moment of olfactory defiance before its demise.

"...seeking to discredit astrology." Well, um, yeah.
Link via Fark.

Snazzy site worth a visit. It rambles a bit, but then, I've just written posts on moral law, the zorilla, and the various weapons I own. So I'm not getting uppity.

Z is zorilla, in fragrance unmatched,
Whose nocturnal rooting seeks rodents to snatch.
He hides from all comers beneath a great stone;
His scent glands ensure that he's left quite alone.

Hmm. Doesn't scan. Ictonyx striatus deserves better.

I sometimes encounter the idea that, were it not for laws against assault, I would race down the street, waving some weapon or other (and Heaven knows I've got some choice in that matter), striking down women, children, and the infirm. Let us clear up something.

I avoid such behavior not because the law has established moral behavior, but because I have the moral law within me.

Kant: Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and the more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heavens above and the moral law within.

Laws are poor ways to create behavior; they are much more successful when they codify what people already believe. Examine Prohibition, that rousing success, and its modern counterpart, the War on Drugs. People who choose not to obey those laws are persecuted to ludicrous extents, and yet the behavior continues. Drug use is down among teens but steady elsewhere. The Eighteenth Amendment did not stop people from drinking bootleg hooch and listening to the jazz. Now the morality of environmental laws, affirmative action, and minimum wage is debatable. Even for one like me, who is rather uncomfortable arguing anything but a priori principles. But such laws cannot succeed if they do not reflect the behavior people would tend to engage in in any case.

Such laws can only occur in a society that has sufficient capital to focus on such things, rather than being preoccupied with the wolf which is right outside the door. Decent societies progress, in charity and in wisdom. A society unready for such laws might not survive them.

Too Hegelian a view of history? Tant pis, man.

Practicing with a whip is so much fun: the SNAP! at the end of a correctly aligned strike is impossibly congratulatory. I get out at least once a week with my (six foot) nylon whip, but I'm feeling a bit constrained with it right now. I'm chaining five or six differently directed attacks together, and getting good power and precision into them much of the time. There's just not that much more for me to do, particularly since I'm more interested in the self-defense aspects of flexible weapons; I practice with my belt after I've finished with the whip.

The sjambok is still a favorite of mine, and I combine its practice with fencing. The fencing footwork is partially applicable to all martial movement, and the lunge, I've found, is almost never expected by martial artists who haven't studied fencing themselves. Since I've neglected my fencing for a few years, my lunge is slow and predictable, but when I get it back to full speed, I'll enjoy myself greatly in sparring. Especially when I add in the fencing "fakes", which delude the opponent into moving the wrong way. They need to be adapted to this purpose, of course, and one can't move the precise motions from fencing to bare-handed sparring, but 'twill serve.

My short staff is the most often absent of my weapons. I'm learning xing-yi staff, which is entirely different from the other styles I've encountered. Less brutal, and pleasanter to watch. I'm not deriding it, or commenting on its effectiveness, but it's composed of more graceful techniques. I still practice, but only when I've scheduled it for myself. On a whim, I'm much more likely to grab some other implement of damage.

The sticks get a lot of play, against air or trees or (when no one's around to yell at me) the heavy bag. My siniwallis are becoming much more controlled, and my strikes have more power behind them. Sticks are the most practical of the weapons with which I practice; there's always something around one can use like a truncheon.

The cane is fun, but without a partner, I'm using it more or less just like a stick, or practicing my takedowns on an unsuspecting tree--which nevertheless resists them unmoving. There's little satisfaction to tripping air, or to tugging hopelessly on the trunk of an immutable juniper. I need, in short, a new toy. I'm thinking something sharp.

[M]en proclaim as a great mind and profound thinker a dull, ignorant philosophaster, a scribbler of nonsense, who by his ineffably hollow verbiage thoroughly and permanently disorganizes their brains; I refer to our dearly beloved Hegel.
--Schopenhauer, On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason

I realize that a number of my quotations of Hegel have been nasty, this not the least of them. I really don't have an agenda against him; I just think that philosophers getting personal is amusing. My basic feeling about Schopenhauer, keeping this quote in mind, is: Physician, heal thyself.

The Guardian catches up with Samizdata regarding Mr. Lynds' new theory of time.

An old and hoary restaurant superstition has it that catastrophes occur near or during full moons. I began to believe it when the second fire started last night. When the drunken customer made it all the way to the washroom, but not the toilet before an...unfortunate incident, my new-found faith was only strengthened. But when an usually immensely skilled waitress spilled a tray of eight steaks, all medium-well and thus requiring quite some time to start again, I decided to test out another restaurant superstition: any bad yin can be cancelled by the equivalent yang from a suitable source. That is, in English, "drink cocktails until it goes away". I am delighted to report this strategy was a complete success.

I recently upgraded to Avant Browser, and can no longer remember how I did without it. It blocks pop-ups, has tabs, is perfectly intuitive, and is free free free! I'm still giddy. So long, IE! Hello, 21st century!

UPDATE: Avant Browser gets a perma-link, raising its total links on this page to three.

We are now number one for a Yahoo search for 'cymbal banging monkey bender', so something's going right.

All Madame Mao, all the time. Her private jet is being turned into a restaurant.

take the nerd test.


and go to mewing.net. a nerd utopia.

Lies! All lies! But that should be a comma after "pretentious". And I'm not sure "immaculate" syntax is really what one's after (excuse me; "that after which one is"); all these little spots mean something.

A Review of Madame Mao, Predictably Obtuse

It's as though the Simpsons did Commies! The Musical!

Act I opens with Jiang Ching, our heroine, hanged in a prison cell, and goes downhill from there. She laments her misfortune, and curses the men "who taught [her] how to hate." At this point I realized that this was not going to be a subtle opera.

We watch as Jiang Ching is put on trial (I imagine she's remembering all this, but it could also be that the librettist really liked Memento), in a risible scene in which the chorus of soldiers and bureaucrats march about and shout at her to "Confess!" and also to "Shut up!" at the same time. Now wonder she was convicted. We travel further back in time, to see a young (and fairly hot) Jiang Ching as a ridiculously untalented actress. I'd have called the struggle between reality and drama subtext, except that it wasn't. When you come out and say things like, "I have played this part [Nora, from A Doll's House], and I have played another part in the world", it's not subtext. It's just text.

A nice waltz follows, the high point of the Act musically, being pleasant to hear. Jiang Ching is betrayed by her lover. Who can blame him? She needs a new job, so a good bit of Chinese opera follows, which was fun to watch and enjoyable to listen to, with a real melody and not just relentless ratchets and tympani. Jiang appears as Mu Gu-ying, and looks very cute in her little pink outfit and matching spear. She's accessorized!

The Chairman (Fanfare!) has come to watch the show, and applauds vigorously. It's the only thing he does vigorously in the opera; more on that in a bit. Jiang's cute little outfit ends up on the floor (this is what kept me from taking an early intermission), and the Chairman (Fanfare!) proceeds to get jiggy with it (not the outfit), to an unintentionally hilarious trombone (the woman in front of me muttered, "Yeah, I know how that is").

In comes Zhi-Zhen, Mao's (Fanfare!) wife. She and Jiang tussle. No one cares who wins. Jiang finally drops her with a nifty rabbit punch. Zhi-Zhen curses them and is taken to an asylum (historic fact, ladies and gentlemen).

The music can be divided into three sections: sound effects (as for a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but with less subtlety), five notes sequentially repeated until an aural after-image appears, and the Fanfare for Chairman Mao. I suppose the Fanfare could be called a leitmotif, but since it and the waltz are the only recognizable themes in this act, it seems unnecessary to do so.

Act II? Plot wise, stuff happens. Mao (Fanfare!) gets sick, Jiang takes over and decides China has too much culture. Better kill some people! She does so, but, strangely, things don't improve. Mao (Fanfare!) dies. Jiang dies. The opera ends, right where it began, with Jiang hanged. Jeez, I wasted two hours and I could've left five minutes in.

Musically, Act II can easily be recreated at home. Get a copy of Mao's (Fanfare!) Little Red Book. Read phrases from it in random tones. While doing this, take an ordinary ballpeen hammer, and strike yourself repeatedly on the forehead with every high note. Now you've got it. Interestingly, Act II had the only real chord progressions in the opera, but by then I was too beaten to care.

My overall impression? Drinks at the Santa Fe Opera are overpriced.

UPDATE: Here. Real reviews, with a brief note attached by me.

San Diego Magazine likes it. Apparently "banal" means "inoffensive to the ears". Also, note self-congratulatory bit about Eastern scales.

Houston Chronicle tries so hard to be nice.

Cincinnati Enquirer digs on spectacle. Who doesn't?

L.A. Times, with a pun in rather poor taste for the title.

And there you go. Informed opinion!

Death is a friend of ours; and he that is not ready to entertain him is not at home.
--Sir Francis Bacon

Quantum critical points were predicted by Einstein, in reference to super-cooled atoms acting in concert. That's all I have to add to this article. Although, if I were Dave Barry, I might point out that "Super Cool and the Atoms--in Concert"...oh, never mind.

This is just lazy thinking.

Correlation is not causality. I see no reason to assume that the speech energy centers are not caused by the harmonic scale, rather than the other way 'round. Boethius was more scientific than this study is.

A trip to North Korea.