Bush looked weak and out of his depth in tonight's debate. He was a man who had very little to say and so said it all often, fumbling and pausing horrifically now and then while he tried to come up with a point. He was jittery and defensive, and looked frankly unpresidential. He promises more of the same.

John Kerry did, I thought, a very competent job indeed. He was a man in his element, dignified, well-informed, commanding. It seemed very clear to me that he had Bush on the defensive. And he said some things that desperately needed saying. Things like 'Osama bin Laden'. As soon as he brought up Osama bin Laden, I got all juicy and excited...Bush had nothing in response, absolutely nothing at all.

I remember watching Gore go up against Bush four years ago...Holy tits and ass, was that painful. I could practically feel Bush's evil folksy tendrils worming their way into American brains while he and Gore got it on. I didn't feel that tonight at all. Bush has not made his case, and it looks like he's totally incapable of doing so. He did not win any hearts and minds tonight. Kerry projected authority and dominance. He was resolute, and made his points, and didn't seem long-winded or aloof. Up against Long John Kerry and his Craggy Machismo of Destiny, Bush looked like an insecure fraud with a very small penis and testicles made of butter. And Mr Spock's ears.

Admittedly, I loathe Bush, and I loathed him back before it was cool and hip. But I tried to be objective, to imagine what a non-loather might think; and any way I slice it, no matter how stupid I try to pretend to be, Kerry won this debate. I thought it was a strong performance, and I for one am a lot more convinced now that Kerry is a strong candidate.

I feel good.

UPDATE (10/1): What the hell is with Bush and love? Did anyone else's jaw drop when he talked about what hard work it is for him to love the war widows as best he can? On TV, it was incredibly creepy. First the OBGYN thing, now this...

Some people will make it through their entire lives having never said 'Serve my balls with this tennis racquet until I make it over the net.'

It makes you think, doesn't it?

Orbital's remix of the Doctor Who theme is dead good.

Also, 'The Orb's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld' owes a debt to Blake's 7.

This is all.

Something just pissed me off and I have a blog, so I can bitch and bitch and bitch about it all I want, and no power on the face of this planet or in low Earth orbit can stop me! Only the Moon Pope (he is the Pope of the Moon, you know) can thwart me now, and I don't see him around.

It's this New York Times Magazine article on the Stardust mission. It's not the article itself that bothers me; the rhetorical flourishes are a bit much, but as far as pop science goes it's good enough. It's the introduction that sears my brain with red hot brands of ignorance iron. It takes such a 'Gee whiz, ain't science crazy?' tone. Actually, it's mainly just one sentence that roasts my horse chestnuts. And it's not really the article or its writer I'm roasted at, but what the article tells us about its own likely readers.

Searching for the origins of life in the dust of a comet might sound like a bit of cosmically cockeyed indirection, something straight out of a New Age sci-fi novel.

The trouble is that it shouldn't sound like that at all to anyone who made it through a (decent, which is to say probably imaginary) high school Earth Science course. Describing it in this way panders to people's ignorance; it reassures them, soothes them, strokes their hair and whispers 'Yes, yes, it's okay to find science weird and silly and unreal, it's okay if you don't really know much about the physical universe you live in, let's all have a good "Jeepers gosh!" moment and pretend that flipping through an article one Sunday makes up for a lifetime of wallowing in a culture of ignorance.' I'd guess that this kind of tone is probably effective in roping in readers who wouldn't wade through a less gawky article, and so it does decrease the net ignorance in the world by a tiny yet still meaningful (always meaningful) amount. But into what unplumb'd abysses of uttermost despair it shines its wee light!

These are compelling times we live in. Around the world, wars are being fueled by fundamentalist adherence to ancient creeds. Here in the United States, where religious fervor has in many ways never been stronger, creationism still finds its way into some classrooms, and biblically accurate creation theme parks are built, with scripture accompanying dinosaur-bone displays. And yet all the while, the United States government is allotting millions of dollars each year to the global endeavor of piecing together from an ever-growing body of evidence the actual story of creation.

There are several things to be said about this paragraph. The first thing to say is that it's entirely true. Scientists offer people, if not the whole entire eternal truth of the world we live in, then at least a road to truth, as opposed to a bunch of bedtime stories for retarded cavemen. The second thing to say is that it's clearly preaching to the choir on that score. Dismissing religion out of hand, as the article does, and as I do roughly every seven minutes of my waking life (every fifty-two minutes sleeping), isn't really likely to win over anyone who feels ambivalently towards science due to their religious beliefs. Science desperately needs to win over the religious.

I don't mean that science needs to replace religion in the lives of Americans, even though I love science and hate (most) religion. There's no reason the two can't coexist. Science deals entirely with the things of this world; science has nothing to say about any putative God, only about His creation. You can embrace every single thing modern science has to say about the world, and still worship a transcendent God beyond it all: these two realms of thought are, or can be, entirely separated. Who the fuck cares if God is supposed to have created the world in a single week six thousand years ago? Is that important for anyone's understanding of God, or their relationship with God? Does it have implications for salvation or the next life? No. There are, it is true, people who embrace Biblical inerrancy who would disagree, but these people are stupid and probably nothing can be done for them anyhow.

But there are millions and millions and millions of Americans out there who aren't stupid and are religious. Or superstitious. Or believe in alien abductions. Or just don't know what they believe. In short, there are millions of people out there who think mystically. Trying to make them think rationally instead is, amongst other things, adversarial, patronising, and actually quite tedious. But, and this is a big but, what if we could convince them to think rationally as well as mystically? What if we could infect them with wonder and curiosity towards the laws and nature of the physical world as revealed through scientific inquiry, not as a replacement for their religious impulses (which just won't work; science does not meet the same needs religion does), but as an accessory? What if we could inject a current of updated Hermetic, cosmic piety into American thought? Convince the religious to embrace the physical world as a reflection of the transcendent, and science as a conciliation with the works of God?

Well, it sounds pretty fucking cool to me.

ADDENDUM: I should mention that I found the article via Michael Bérubé, who twists it to his own cultural-studies ends; I should also mention that something needs to be done to encourage American religion to evolve in a more positive direction before it turns into a bunch of right-wing assholes beating heretics with the Left Behind books.

...Widely applicable to the current state of American politics:

'You know the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don't alter their views to fit the facts. They alter the facts to fit the views. Which can be uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering.'

--The Doctor

The Scissor Sisters put on one heck of a show last night.

There were homosexuals everywhere, packed into a chamber that seemed oddly subterranean, not unlike the auditorium of some tribe of giant ants. There were a disco ball and flashing rainbow lights on the stage, colourful star designs projected undulatingly over the ceiling. A little false fog. A lot of sweat. I was trapped in the midst of the queering crowd, not too far from the centre of the stage. The spectators were like maddened beasts, but beasts that cheer and hop and sometimes pinch my bottom. There was a lot of that going around. I gyrated with them in rough accord to the music; I said 'Woo,' and 'Whee,' and 'Take your trousers off,' and 'Oops,' as one does at these events.

Jake Shears did not take his trousers off, unfortunately, but he did remove his shirt. He is a little firecracker. A very moist firecracker. Boy, did he sweat. He had to be mopped mid-show by the rest of the band. It takes a lot of effort to be that fabulous. He was both filthy and gorgeous. He looks like a guy you once slept with. He doesn't resemble any particular guy, more the archetypical guy you once slept with. He partakes strongly of the nature of the Platonic form of That Guy You Once Slept With. And I gather he used to live here in Seattle. He emits powerful waves of homotronic energy; do not attempt to operate heavy machinery under the influence of these waves! He encouraged audience members to take their clothes off, and was then pelted with shirts by his adoring fans; such is his power.

He dedicated one song to all the men in the audience he'd slept with.

Wonderful performance, too...They're such an energetic act, these Scissor Sisters. The crowd was loving it; the band was loving their loving it. They sound great live; even I felt like dancing. It was all very carnal. Like some kind of ritual sex magic. They played most of the songs from their album, and a few I hadn't heard before. I can't recall the precise order; I'm sure someone will post it on the Internet soon enough, if they haven't already. It's a shame drinks at the Showbox are so damned expensive ($5 for a gin and tonic! I mean, Christ's fat cock!), as the Scissor Sisters encourage debauchery of every sort. Sweet debauchery. It was truly a show to get pawed at.

In conclusion, then, Strindberg and Helium.

Good night, and God bless.

What do you mean, it's the middle of the afternoon?

Oh. Right then.

The last three books of the Hitchhiker's Trilogy are being adapted into radio plays, and the first episode drawn from Life, the Universe, and Everything can be heard online for the next week or so. There will be a new episode each and every week, I am led to believe. Simon Jones is Arthur Dent again! And he looks like this!

Douglas Adams will be Agrajag. Even though he's dead.

Will it be good? We shall find out! I have high hopes, and I'll report back when I've listened.

The provincial Progressive Conservative Party in Ontario has just elected a new leader, and his name is John Tory.

Well, I thought it was funny.

Excuse me?

I don't have to take this. Fuck you.

I'm never shopping here again.

UPDATE: An unrelated thing.

Peter Marshall: Is Billy Graham considered a good dresser?

Paul Lynde: No, but he's a terrific end table.

Intelligent Design is creationism wrapped in pseudoscience, evasion, and propaganda. In other words, bullshit. Fortunately, the biological sciences are happy to fight back, and one of their weapons is Project Steve. Read it. Love it.

Then behold in awe and wonder the groundbreaking new article that will literally revolutionise the Steveological sciences: 'The Morphology of Steve'.

Manitoba is now the fifth province or territory in Canada to legalise same-sex marriage. A judge affirmed Thursday morning that marriage was to be a union of 'two persons' after three same-sex couples sued for exactly that; neither the federal nor provincial government opposed the ruling. Manitoba now joins Ontario, Quebec, British Columbia, and, of all places, the Yukon in allowing same-sex unions. Wasting no time, at least two such couples tied the proverbial knot yesterday.

Manitoba is still the only province in Canada I've actually visited. It's also a really great band run by a mathematician. Watch the video for 'Jacknuggeted'. You'll thank me.

Oh dear...The Winnipeg Sun refers to an inhabitant of Winnipeg as a Pegger. For the record, to the best of my knowledge, heterosexual females in Winnipeg are no more likely to employ cunningly-wrought phalloid devices on their male partners than are such females elsewhere in the developed world.

Do you need more tabulated numbers in your life? Then behold the Washington state primary results!

Basically, most of the people the Stranger recommended--who happen to be mostly the people I voted for--have lost. Gregoire is crushing Sims for the Democratic gubernatorial nomination. Richard Sanders and Barbara Madsen will be going to the state Supreme Court. The third open spot could still be up for grabs, since there are over 300,000 ballots still to be counted; Mary Kay Becker is slightly ahead of Jim Johnson, but my man Alsdorf isn't that far behind. According to The Stranger, Sanders is a pro-life anti-gay type who admires Scalia, and Madsen is a corporate tool; both are incumbents, and I'm guessing a lot of people voted for them on that basis alone, as the average voter (myself included; I got all my information from alt-weekly endorsements) doesn't know jack about judicial races.

Over twice as many Democratic ballots as Republican ballots were cast in King County, which should come as no surprise.

Did I mention there are tabulated numbers?

So I've got six Gmail invitations I could send out, and so far I haven't found anyone who wants one, since these things have been spreading like positive herpes. If you'd like one, send me an e-mail (prancelot shift-2 gmail period com) explaining why it is you feel you deserve Gmail. Try to reference Giordano Bruno as a representative of the Hermetic tradition. Or make fun of Lyndon LaRouche. Be creative. Lie. The first six responders win.

UPDATE (9/17): Five left.

UPDATE (9/20): Three left.

UPDATE (9/24): They just keep giving me more of these fucking invitations! Please for the love of Christ take one.

Oh, and by the way, I've got comments again. Rather than reactivating the MT-Comments script, I've just bodged on a HaloScan dealie. It seems to work for Blogspot people, and if it goes down it won't piss off my webhosting provider service outfit thingy. So there. Leave comments, or I'll destroy the Sun.

(Aren't you familiar with Of Montreal?)

So how is same-sex marriage doing up in Canada these days, hmm?

Larry Zolf describes the politicking involved.

The Vatican refuses to accept the separation of church and state, and won't accept any civil union as a compromise, either. The many Catholic MPs in the Liberal caucus have been gun-shy on the issue. They like the fact that it will be the Charter that will give gays their legal marriage, and it will be the Charter that these MPs can cling to for fairness and steadfastness in murky political waters.

Martin's adroitness in handling the gay marriage issue, and his recognition of the Chrétien formula of avoiding trouble have worked. The majority of ethnic and Catholic MPs in the Liberal caucus reflecting their constituents were in open rebellion on gay rights. Getting the Supreme Court and the Charter to push same-sex marriage through is a gift horse those MPs refuse to look in the mouth.

It was the Liberals who took a bit of a beating on gay rights in election 2004. Dennis Mills lost his seat to a massive gay vote for NDP Leader Jack Layton. In other ridings gays and Liberals coalesced for victory. Mills was targeted by gays because he wore his Catholicism on his sleeve and gays took umbrage at his defiance. He became the only Toronto Catholic Liberal MP to go down in defeat.

Will someone please please please get Jack 'Nance' Layton to say 'There was a fish in the percolator' on TV? 'She's dead...Wrapped in plastic' would also be acceptable, although a bit dark.

Layton swept the gay vote, taking it away from the Liberals where it had rested since the days of Pierre Trudeau and his "the state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation." Bloc Québécois Leader Gilles Duceppe and his Quebec Catholic MPs do not share the angst of their brethren in the Martin caucus. The Bloc as usual departs from the Canadian and Liberal norm in its wholesale endorsement of same-sex marriage.

Another victory for the Gay Conspiracy! Our pink helicopters will begin deploying storm troopers momentarily.

I'm sufficiently geeky that I believe this to be accurate.

***

You are the Second Doctor: Affable, impish, and
fond of simple pleasures as well as simple
pranks. Your mischievous exterior camouflages a
powerful mind and a great deal of courage.
Although you care nothing for appearances, you
place a high value on the bonds of true and
lasting friendship.


Which Incarnation of the Doctor Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

***

The Scissor Sisters are playing at the Showbox downtown on Thursday, 23 September. I bought my ticket this afternoon. It will be a big ole queerfest indeed, and a good time will be had by all. Have you heard their album yet? They're sort of the progeny of disco and glam, in the sense that Frankenstein's monster was the progeny of all those rotting corpses. But good, if you like to shake your bottom camply, and who doesn't, now and again?

My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult will be opening for Ministry at the Fenix Underground (roundabouts Pioneer Square) on Wednesday, 29 September. It's $32.50 in advance and I haven't bought a ticket yet, but I'm almost certain to. It's My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult. I've missed them at least once already; I cannot miss them again. Surely you know of the Thrill Kill Kult. If Trent Reznor were raped by David Bowie and had his assbaby, who was then raised in a vat of heroin by Satan and Morissey, the resulting creature might sound like the Thrill Kill Kult. Only not. (They don't sound anything like any of these artists.) A certain FAQ describes their music as 'a sort of "gothic-techno-industrial-dance-disco", if that helps any. "Psycho-babble- dingbat-funk" appears to be the band's best effort to date at categorizing their own sound.' They're incredibly sleazy, sex and death all rolled up in drugs and the Devil. It's great.

This is all.

Holy cocks, can this really be real? This is the most fabulous thing in the history of things.

Police in Paris have discovered a fully equipped cinema-cum-restaurant in a large and previously uncharted cavern underneath the capital's chic 16th arrondissement.

Officers admit they are at a loss to know who built or used one of Paris's most intriguing recent discoveries.

Who would build a secret cinema...underground?

(Via Amygdala.)

UPDATE: The cinema was the work of a secret society of French persons, and not of talking comic-strip animals. Their spokesperson claims there may be as many as 10 similar societies tooling around underneath Paris in the name of art, which just goes to show that the French are extremely fucking cool.

(Via Boing Boing.)

This is probably a good time to mention that you can find lots of similarly-cool stuff over at Infiltration, the site of an urban-exploration zine based in Canada.

ANOTHER UPDATE (9/13): Today the Independent has a nice little article on the Parisian catacombs and their history. Here is the Seattle Urban Exploration Meetup Group. Seattle has its own underground; this outfit runs tours, but the site doesn't contain much of interest. I hear the tour itself is quite interesting, though. Here we find a brief account of the history, but it's all a bit glib. I should investigate.

Not even I can eat pizza every single night. There comes a time when one must square one's shoulders and bite the bullet, and finally cook oneself some kind of food-based meal. Here is a recipe for jambalaya that I made up wandering aimlessly in the grocery store and prepared just last night on just such an occasion.

1. Find some vegetables. I used a green pepper, a red pepper, half a white onion, and three ribs of celery. Maybe you'd want to add a carrot; who knows? Be sure to get garlic, too. As much as you can stand.
2. Warm some butter in a several-quart pot. Find a big scary knife; the bigger and scarier it is, the more fun it is to use. (It can be pretty dull; vegetables don't fight back much.) Chop all your vegetables up like you did that migrant worker you killed with an awl. Dump them in the buttery pot to sizzle on a high low or low medium sort of heat until tender like that migrant worker you killed with an awl.
3. Now pour a 28 ounce can of crushed tomatoes into the pot. This is easier if you open the can first. You can use a can opener on that if you'd like, or you can pound a hole in the lid with a screwdriver and a hammer, as I did. Stir well; make sure nothing's sticking to the bottom of the pot.
4. Realise you're saying 'pot' quite a lot and giggle.
5. Add some chicken broth; I used a little over half of a 14-ounce can. You can do whatever the hell you like. The more broth you add now, the more rice you'll have to add later.
6. Get some kind of sausage. This could be soy-based if you'd like; I used chicken andouille. Make sure it's pre-cooked, or else you'll have to cook it yourself and who has the time for that? Slice it and add it to the pot until you feel you've added enough.
7. Now season the living fuck out of it. I employed a self-described Cajun seasoning, cayenne, a little black pepper, and a little chili powder. I sprinkle these in until I start to fear for my soul.
8. Stir it all up, put a lid on it, and let it fester over a low heat for a while. Make some rice now. I'm told longer grains work better for this sort of thing. Maybe you could cook the rice in your tomato vegetable thingy mix; I'm not sure. I did mine separately. I ended up with about three cups' worth when I was done.
9. You should have a 15 to 20 minute wait right about now while the rice cooks. That's enough time to watch an episode of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force, or to masturbate about eight times if you have a problem with premature ejaculation.
10. Now add the rice to your pot, slap the lid back on it, and let it do its thing for another 20 minutes or so. Now drink, drink to drown all your sorrows and regrets; let's face it, you probably have enough of them.
11. Ding! You're all done. You just killed a good hour without a single thought passing through your head, and now you have something to eat as well. Good for you!

It's just that easy.

Before this day is dead, will George Bush and Dick Cheney appear on national television dressed as tall buildings while Tom Ridge dances around them with his arms out going 'Brrrrrrr zoom wheeeeeeee brrrbrr brrr brrr kaboom'?

I don't buy the 'September 11 changed everything' idea. Clearly it didn't. Americans are still ignorant provincials sucking desperately at the bloated and inflamed teats of an unrelentingly consumerist way of life. The only real difference is that now your Nike SUV McJolly Meal comes with extra paranoia and no silverware. The message from our (s)elected leaders of the last few years has been not to change at all, in any meaningful way: no sacrifices, no mobilisation, no communities coming together, no meaningful projects at all in fact for the American people to undertake. Just max out your credit cards, or the terrorists have already won. And while you're here, get a big mouthful of this here gasolene and then go 'Blghlghglghglblblblghgbblgh I'm a fountain!'

Then shut up.

This whole War on Terror business has been from the get-go a made-for-TV project. Americans are meant to watch it, to cheer it, to vote for it; but never to actually participate--to join the army, learn Arabic, drive a hybrid, convince your children of the fundamental value and rightness of Enlightenment rationalism, find Afghanistan on a map. Tune in again next week, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel: who knows where those wacky WMDs will wind up next? The hilarity!

Terrorism cannot topple western civilisation (though it might encourage us to topple ourselves). It is not a threat to our way of life. Which is in any case already marked for death in a hundred years or so, when the climate changes and fossil fuels are exhausted. Unless we decide to, y'know, actually start doing something about it.

September 11 was a tragic day, and if someone you know was killed I'm very sorry for your loss. Humanity has seen tragic days before, and it will see others in the future. The gods of war and death will demand sacrifice so long as we worship at their rude altars. What changes?

And some day we'll die, and the Earth will die, and the stars will die, and all matter will die, and the past will die for there will be nothing to remember it, and the future will die for there will be nothing to build it, and the present will die for there will be nothing to mark it. And it will be then as if nothing ever was.

Merry Christmas!

Why is the physical universe modellable with mathematics?

In other words, why is Bruno's conception of physics wrong, while Newton's is (in principle) right?

Today I invented a new word, meaning one who engages in the traditional form of intercourse with someone of the female persuasion: vaginaut (vagina + naut).

Also, the northern lily pond in Volunteer Park is absolutely mad with koi today, swarms of little teeny ones and flotillas of big strapping ones, including the brassiest (in a metallic-looking sense) fish I've ever seen. I think he's their Emperor. If you pay him tribute, he will answer any question you pose. But being a fish, of course, he can only answer with the single thing fish can say: 'Jello shots.'

How much has the human mind really changed in the last five hundred years? We still say that the Sun sets.

Jim McDermott is my Representative; his Republican opponent this time around is a Carol Cassady, who says 'Abortion is the American Holocaust.' That says it all, really.

Ever wonder where some right-wing figures get the frankly nutty notions they disseminate? Like just recently, when House Speaker Dennis Hastert insinuated that George Soros got his money from drug cartels? It wasn't just a lie and a smear and bullshit, it was really obviously bullshit, the sort of bullshit that no reasonable person can even begin to entertain. (It's no mystery where George Soros gets his money, whether you approve of him or not.) Where could a public figure possibly get such an inane piece of brainslobber?

From America's leading mathematical fraud, Lyndon LaRouche..

The Speaker of the House gets his talking points from the nuttiest of the proto-fascist fringe. Sweet dreams.

Blah blah blah, politics politics, blah. I deeply resent large segments of the Republican Party for giving their political views the incontrovertible weight of theological dogma and running their party and campaign along irrationalist, anti-Enlightenment lines. (What, exactly, is George Bush's agenda supposed to be? More tax cuts? Or will it be more tax cuts? Or maybe he'll just come right out of left field and go for more tax cuts? So far, admittedly, his cuts haven't worked, but tax cuts are clearly GOOD, so if he just keeps cutting and cutting and cutting, sooner or later everything will have to work out. It's like some kind of political cargo cult trying to summon back the popularity of Ronald Reagan with their sympathetic magic.) I deeply resent George Bush for being so utterly hostile to my political views and personal beliefs that I've fallen in with the Democratic Party and John Kerry instead of promoting my genuine leftist agenda, out of fear of a Bush victory. I deeply resent Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly for being so damned ugly. I deeply resent Dick Cheney's total lack of balls: why is he not smacking down the bigots (like Alan Keyes) in his own party who attack his lesbian daughter? I'm generally just really pissed these days. And I don't have much that's constructive to say about the state of the Union at the moment.

But I've found out what the Most Unkindest Nethercutt of All has been up to lately: Patty Murray's Republican challenger here in my adopted state of Washington is spearheading legislation to extort immunity from the International Criminal Court from this nation's allies, on pain of losing American economic assistance. George Nethercutt has apparently decided that, at this critical juncture in history, what America really needs is to annoy its allies again with pointless grandstanding and unilateralism.

Nethercutt, according to a brief report at the end of this article, came in eight percentage points behind Murray in a recent poll run by a Republican outfit, and has only half as much money as Murray. This recent KING-5 poll, on the other hand, puts her 14 points ahead. I don't think there's really much doubt which way this will go.

Ralph Nader's made the Washington ballot, but has failed in Oregon. I have lost all respect I once had for the man, thanks to his being such a giant public tool, and I'm gladder than Hell that the Green Party refused to endorse him. I don't think Nader will matter much in this state, though; Bush-hatred is a much stronger force than wishy-washy progressivism in the Seattle area. Seattle's full of big talk on progressive issues, but very few people actually do anything about it. (I fit right in!) But we watch a lot of movies 'round these parts, and we love to bitch: George Bush is our natural enemy. In the wild, he would feel our hot espresso-laden breath and rending claws, and then we would sell him on eBay. We have the scent of entirely figurative blood in our nostrils.

(Outfoxed is showing at the Meridian 16 downtown.)