heh

Yes I have you- and thanks for that as well.

I love this <Flann O'Brien> story. I wonder if it's really true?

Or is that really relevant in his case?

Probably not. Given his writing, it should be true.

http://www.themodernword.com/featur...

Never mind. Better indisposed than disposed of. Back to biz ...

<Euripides> I enjoyed the image of Indo-European languages doing a concertina dance through history, gaining or shedding complexity. Like the original Huttonian steady-state geology, with "no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end".

My argument in the language case is that literacy - writing, and then printing - provides the key. Literacy is the reason that the main post-Gutenberg languages have lost inflections etc, while pre-literate oral languages have remained complex.

Walter Ong's book, Orality and Literacy, is still the classic in this area.

I'm increasingly sceptical, though, about McLuhan-style claims that pre-literate oral thinking returns with post-literate electronic thinking.

Weirdly, the one article I managed to write during the comatose phase - churned out ve-e-r-y slowly, word by bloody word, over 48 hours - was much admired at the editorial end, and went through unmutilated. It seems I'm a better writer when I'm not able to think.

I'm sure there are drugs that could replicate the effect, but the pharmacies are on strike here. And I'm too old to hang around street corners.

I thought <Dom> was well into his fourth, if not fifth...

But happerdee clap clap birthday, Dom!

Ah - the cerebellum... One of evolutions many great inventions, no?

I always say in these situations:

Si vis pacem, para bellum!

I'm onto you, you see.

Or was it the start of the first Nickel game that prompted me? 2006 was also the year I played in my first OTB tournament since 1989, so that makes some sense. Chess as an ancient addiction lying in wait, biding its time, waiting for me to hit the crucial Fischeresque age of 48. When a young man's fancy turns to Springers.

But three whole years with a (sort of) stable identity? Can't quite believe it m'self.

I'm off to buy the new Pynchon novel now. It's only 400 pages - the last one had 1100 pages and appeared *less* than three years ago. Some old guys have become oddly prolific. If I ever met the famously reclusive author, I'd have one question: how did he spend his 21st birthday, as I was busy being born at the time ...

He doesn't believe in offering too many choices, does he? (whoever he is) :s

Your personal birthday hath been noted. ;)

To be absolutely precise Pynchon (born Long Island, NY, May 8th 1937) celebrated his 21st birthday on my first complete day on the planet.

I sometimes console 36-year-olds worried about accumulating years and impending fortiness by saying "think of yourself as two separate 18-year-olds". Good for a laugh, at least, which gives it a marked advantage over commercially available anti-age products. But it's getting harder to imagine myself as three distinct 17-year-olds ...

I hear (do you know "Children of the Mind", a part of the Ender series, by Orson Scott Card?) it can be difficult to keep track of 3 distinct selves, and I imagine it would be even more difficult if they are all 17. (Yikes!)

Contretemps, contretempo ... did I imagine it, or was somebody there comparing countries on their ability to *import chess grandmasters*? Bizarre. (For what it's worth, BTW, Canada beat the Philippines 2.5-1.5 at their last olympiad match, Calvia 2004, though the Philippines finished higher up in the final table.)

I remember now. The question was "how could you even think of leaving Israel" -- which, given various other parameters, is not a *totally* retarded query. It's the bit relating to GMs-per-square-Km that qualifies as sub-vegetal on the enlightenment level. And some lettuces are pretty deep. ("Never mind the bombs, just think of all the ELO points in Rishon LeZion")

I admit to being a known Canadophile. Also Russia, Sweden, and anywhere else with an arctic circle attached. Alaska might qualify, but then I remember Sarah Palin and the other 49 states. So Canada is the only place with both the English language and the requisite northness.

I lied about all those other languages. OK, maybe I can get by in three or four, but English is the only language where I can climb inside and feel the vibrations. You'll know what I mean.

Haven't read much (any? enough?) Orson Scott Card, though the title Children of the Mind rings a bell. Probably the bell attached to a list of stuff I meant to read, but didn't.

I saw that conversation, but I wouldn't have known where to look for the mystery player. ;) (OK, maybe I would, if I'd tried harder.)

<"Never mind the bombs, just think of all the ELO points in Rishon LeZion">

Ya, but they ain't even sharing'em nicely. :(

<I admit to being a known Canadophile. Also Russia, Sweden, and anywhere else with an arctic circle attached. Alaska might qualify, but then I remember Sarah Palin and the other 49 states. So Canada is the only place with both the English language and the requisite northness.>

My considerations are very similar, actually. :) I was looking for an English speaking country (don't see much point in learning yet another language fully from scratch, when the three I know cover most practical needs already...) that's a nice place to live. Having spent many years online talking to natives and residents of most English speaking countries, I came to the conclusion that either Canada or Oz are the definite winners - however, Oz is disqualified due to their draconian pet immigration laws - I have two kitties I'm not leaving, and 6 months quarantine?! - I don't think so!

That leaves Canada, which, upon a closer look, is just the right place anyway, since flora- and terrain-wise some parts of it look exactly like Romania - and Romania would be one of the best places in the world for its beauty... if it only weren't such a poor country. Oh, and if I knew Romanian. :s As a child I could get manage with Hungarian alone, but adults are expected to know Romanian, even in Transylvania.

I do understand Romanian somewhat (this gives me a glimpse into the structure of the Latin-related languages), and if you put me in immersion for a week or so, I can even recall enough vocabulary to start talking, but it's a long way from being fluent or comfortable with the language. Vibrations and all, as you said. ;)

<Haven't read much (any? enough?) Orson Scott Card, though the title Children of the Mind rings a bell. Probably the bell attached to a list of stuff I meant to read, but didn't.>

Ah, if it's on the to-read list, take it off. It's not that good. I was only referring to it due to it featuring the exact idea of a person's - well, he uses another term, but means "soul" - ending up inhabiting 3 bodies, one of which is falling apart due to the lack of the "soul's" ability to pay sufficient attention to all three. Nuff said, I think. :\

Orson Scott Card wrote one fantastic book - 'Ender's Game'. Then he wrote two series based on it, an earlier series of sequels following mostly the main character, and a recent series following another character. Skipping both sequel series is a good idea, but do try to get in the original sometime. :)

Reminds me of Herbert's Dune series - not contentwise, just in how much better the original book was than all its sequels. (Not to mention those travesties of further prequels and sequels written by Frank's mediocre-at-best writer son Brian, and an accomplice.)

<I won't quibble with your oldness numerology, but isn't it partly a matter of attitude? I've met people who were old by 30.>

And the name? Well, Marx once had a twin, Spencer. Spencer was the ultimate dumb blonde and a dog brute got her aged about two. Marx was *smart*, not noticeably good-looking, and lived ten times as long.

And no, I'm not going to look for another cat. Yet.

Oh gawd, now I really have a country song coming on ...

<"Catfood ...

She turned up her whiskers at catfood
No matter who opened the tin
All that luxury salmon-n-caviar
It always wound up in the bin.

Just a certain twitch of that whisker
An imperious way of saying 'pull-ease'
And we'd wind up at the same table
Sharing a take-out Chinese.

Was it Kung Po Chicken or Satay
Was it sweet? Was it sour? Was it, hell.
I don't know the names or the numbers
Not sure I'd be able to tell.

Monosodium glutamate,
Oh, it's easy to say
But I can't read the labels
Since she went away ...">

Nice game. I like these heavy piece endings that turn critical, both sides reject opportunities to go for a draw, and suddenly there are two mating attacks in full flow. Except your opponent runs out of steam first, and by then you've got a won ending as backup anytime you want it. Putting that rook on f4 was a neat way of tidying everything up.

Nice pix too. I'll try not to follow your example in that area just yet. Not vanity (all is vanity) or fear (is a man's best friend) so much as an actual shortage of pix. I could hardly write a thesis on Pynchon, practically share his birthday, and then run around being snapped by all and sundry, now, could I? I sometimes used to step into photo booths, insert cash, and acquire proof of my existence, but I haven't done that in years.

Then there was the photographer who dressed me in leather and made me look Draculoid, for an exhibition. I don't have a copy. The snapper gave the only unsold print to my then girlfriend - she was in the shot too, crouched at my side looking vaguely bitten - and, to cut a long story short, they all became different people, buddhists and film directors and such.

Remember all those evil old white guys with their stories about "primitive tribes" who believed that the camera "stole your soul"? Utter nonsense. 'The' soul is a European invention, mainly Greek, which is how it passed into Xtianity -- Egyptians had multiple souls and neither the early Hebrews nor the Babylonians seem to have worried much about the idea. (According to Peter Watson's 'Ideas: a history...', the Hebrews had a word 'nephesh', meaning something like 'living soul', and similar to Akkadian 'napistu' ... but they "never had a word for the 'essential self' that survived death".)

Which makes sense. They were generally more occupied with correct behavior towards one's god or gods. Worrying about the fate of some internal essence of individuality -- half light, half mucus -- was outside their range.

Nor were the so-called primitives concerned about soul-stealing. They may have been thinking of image rights, though, which is not something you should take from a person without at least asking nicely.

Hmm. As you can see, I ramble so much that the chance of ever making it to promised stages like McLuhan grows increasingly slim. Still - when not *completely* deranged* - the journey itself can be entertaining.

I've given up on postmodernism etc - too much bad writing and sloppy thinking, and I really hate it when a writer doesn't know what they're trying to say but tries to bluff their way free with polysyllables. Poly and me go back a long way, and she deserves understanding.

However. I still cling to a few fragments of the po-mo creed, and this is a key one: <a text constructs its readers>.

<Why> has "Dom" not done that in years??

Did he, in fact, used to do that?

Did it coincide with a lifestyle involving instant and less instant, perceptible confirmations of the "selfish gene"?

The "hard coins", the cash, the ATM around the street corner... where have they all gone?

Have they "all become different people?"

I could go on embarrassing myself by associating with/to your excellent post, but I am forced to employ brevity, restraint, and handle the frustration of Poly leaving me for a Proxy.