Important work on my thesis (that I was totally doing and in no way playing Krakout whilst thinking about chicks) was interrupted yesterday by Josephus arriving with an urgent question. It's always flattering to be asked for advice by my junior colleagues, so I was glad to help.
"What can I do for you?" I asked in my most friendly and yet patronising tone.
"What the accepted procedure if an undergraduate signs off his homework with a picture of a penis?" Josephus replied.
Now, this is a difficult question. We have yet to write the paragraph of departmental policy that deals with representations of male genitalia, so a certain amount of improvisation is required. More importantly, though, it raises a number of important and yet disturbing questions. Some wished to know whether the image was a self-portrait (obviously I don't have the ability to recognise undergraduates purely by their naughty rods, though if it that was the artists' own attributes I'm not sure they were worth advertising). Others demanded to know whether the penis was worth anything without the working out, even if it was the answer to using trigonometry to prove the triangle inequality.
Mainly, though, I just want to know how someone can be admitted to one of the foremost mathematics departments in the country and still be unable to resist the urge to draw phalli about the place with idiotic abandon?
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Friday, 7 November 2008
Culture Report With SpaceSquid
Went to see Chess last night, and am happy to report that I enjoyed myself immensely (even though they were all young and pretty and could sing and dance and thus I hate them and everything they stand for).
It was interesting to see some of the changes that had been worked in. It's not clear how much of this was specifically done by the troupe themselves (a few new song lines were sufficiently clunky to suggest Tim Rice was either not involved, or really bored that day), and how much of it was down to the bastardised hybrid that arose from the ashes of the West End and Broadway versions. Given the amount of time I wasted explaining why Chess is total genius, though, I figured I would mention how some of the changes affect the story.
The most interesting addition is a counterpart to Molokov, an equally scheming and jingoistic American whose name I don't remember but was something like De Corsi. This has the advantage of symmetry (I mentioned last time round that we didn't see enough of the American half of the Cold War rhetoric), and frees up the American from the political wrangling that was never really that convincing (sure, he wants Florence back and his former opponent to lose, but joining the Russians in their meta-game never entirely sat right). On the other hand, though, it sidelines the American in the second act, he simply becomes a washed-up player that no-one respects. His only real contribution to the proceedings post-interval is to let the Russian know of a potential flaw in Vitaly's game, which will allow the Russian to win.
This is bad for two reasons. First, the entire point of the American's character is that chess is the means by which he wins respect and adoration. The game itself is completely irrelevant. He as much as admits this when he describes the child he once was: "He could have all he ever wanted if he's prepared to pay". Chess isn't fun for him, it's the necessary payment for what he needs. Having some 11th hour revelation that chess is all that matters [1] completely violates that idea.
The other problem is that this idea weakens the Russian. For the Russian chess is important. It's critical. His only real ambition is to prove himself the best at the game he loves. When he defects to the West at the end of the first act, there is no suggestion that this is an ideological move (he admits he has no time for anything so petty as nationality), so much as the desire to escape the party men who constantly attempted to inject politics into his playing. In the original, there was never any doubt that he could defeat Vitaly, the choice was entirely his as to whether he would win for himself, or lose for Florence. You lessen that through the implication that he needed help.
Going back to the American for a moment, the poor guy was fairly badly done to throughout. The original character was fascinating, with insufferable arrogance and bellicose invective shielding low self-esteem and his desperate desire to be loved. His dismissive attitude towards and yet total reliance on Florence is part of that. No admission of his insecurity can be made without it being preceded by rage, and is inevitably shot through with self-justification. The man is a horrible mess of drives and needs and fears and self-hatred, and listening to him unravel over the second CD of the original album is genuinely affecting. In last night's show, though, he was almost one-dimensional, whining and ineffectual from the beginning. He was impossible to sympathise with, a great shame when making you feel for the guy was one of the triumphs of the original.
Finally, as predicted, the ending was somewhat less miserable than it once was, though still pretty morose. The only really important change is that having won, the Russian returns to the USSR, ensuring the Russians will give Florence what she wanted. I guess the idea is to show that whilst the Russian would never choose anything above his own success, he genuinely did love Florence enough to sacrifice himself once his victory was complete. The degree to which we should expect Florence to feel satisfied by this is debatable.
Anyway, if nothing else, if you get the chance to catch a musical at the Gala Theatre in Durham, I can recommend it. Them kids can sing.
[1] He also implies that he's the only person in the entire competition who seems to care about the game itself, which is both pretty laughable given his previous behaviour and another example of this particular version of the show constantly ramming home what is supposed to be subtext (however obvious): there are games within games within games. At various points all the main characters actually move as though puppets, controlled from above by the Chess Federation President, who herself moves like a terrifying clockwork mannequin. See what they've done? Everyone is being played, everything is a game, all of us are puppets. As though that wasn't obvious from the story already. Mind you, every time I complain something is depressingly obvious I find someone who didn't pick up on it (several of the people who came to see the show with me couldn't work out what the Hell that crazy spasming woman was doing. "Does she have some kind of degenerative disease?").
Update: I should also mention that it was good to see this performed without any eighties hair to distract me:
It was interesting to see some of the changes that had been worked in. It's not clear how much of this was specifically done by the troupe themselves (a few new song lines were sufficiently clunky to suggest Tim Rice was either not involved, or really bored that day), and how much of it was down to the bastardised hybrid that arose from the ashes of the West End and Broadway versions. Given the amount of time I wasted explaining why Chess is total genius, though, I figured I would mention how some of the changes affect the story.
The most interesting addition is a counterpart to Molokov, an equally scheming and jingoistic American whose name I don't remember but was something like De Corsi. This has the advantage of symmetry (I mentioned last time round that we didn't see enough of the American half of the Cold War rhetoric), and frees up the American from the political wrangling that was never really that convincing (sure, he wants Florence back and his former opponent to lose, but joining the Russians in their meta-game never entirely sat right). On the other hand, though, it sidelines the American in the second act, he simply becomes a washed-up player that no-one respects. His only real contribution to the proceedings post-interval is to let the Russian know of a potential flaw in Vitaly's game, which will allow the Russian to win.
This is bad for two reasons. First, the entire point of the American's character is that chess is the means by which he wins respect and adoration. The game itself is completely irrelevant. He as much as admits this when he describes the child he once was: "He could have all he ever wanted if he's prepared to pay". Chess isn't fun for him, it's the necessary payment for what he needs. Having some 11th hour revelation that chess is all that matters [1] completely violates that idea.
The other problem is that this idea weakens the Russian. For the Russian chess is important. It's critical. His only real ambition is to prove himself the best at the game he loves. When he defects to the West at the end of the first act, there is no suggestion that this is an ideological move (he admits he has no time for anything so petty as nationality), so much as the desire to escape the party men who constantly attempted to inject politics into his playing. In the original, there was never any doubt that he could defeat Vitaly, the choice was entirely his as to whether he would win for himself, or lose for Florence. You lessen that through the implication that he needed help.
Going back to the American for a moment, the poor guy was fairly badly done to throughout. The original character was fascinating, with insufferable arrogance and bellicose invective shielding low self-esteem and his desperate desire to be loved. His dismissive attitude towards and yet total reliance on Florence is part of that. No admission of his insecurity can be made without it being preceded by rage, and is inevitably shot through with self-justification. The man is a horrible mess of drives and needs and fears and self-hatred, and listening to him unravel over the second CD of the original album is genuinely affecting. In last night's show, though, he was almost one-dimensional, whining and ineffectual from the beginning. He was impossible to sympathise with, a great shame when making you feel for the guy was one of the triumphs of the original.
Finally, as predicted, the ending was somewhat less miserable than it once was, though still pretty morose. The only really important change is that having won, the Russian returns to the USSR, ensuring the Russians will give Florence what she wanted. I guess the idea is to show that whilst the Russian would never choose anything above his own success, he genuinely did love Florence enough to sacrifice himself once his victory was complete. The degree to which we should expect Florence to feel satisfied by this is debatable.
Anyway, if nothing else, if you get the chance to catch a musical at the Gala Theatre in Durham, I can recommend it. Them kids can sing.
[1] He also implies that he's the only person in the entire competition who seems to care about the game itself, which is both pretty laughable given his previous behaviour and another example of this particular version of the show constantly ramming home what is supposed to be subtext (however obvious): there are games within games within games. At various points all the main characters actually move as though puppets, controlled from above by the Chess Federation President, who herself moves like a terrifying clockwork mannequin. See what they've done? Everyone is being played, everything is a game, all of us are puppets. As though that wasn't obvious from the story already. Mind you, every time I complain something is depressingly obvious I find someone who didn't pick up on it (several of the people who came to see the show with me couldn't work out what the Hell that crazy spasming woman was doing. "Does she have some kind of degenerative disease?").
Update: I should also mention that it was good to see this performed without any eighties hair to distract me:
Time To Spare
Apologies to R and Tom for not having celebrated their birthdays here yet; it's been a hell of a week.
Here, then, somewhat belatedly, is a video for R, one of my favourite moments from one of my favourite shows.
And here is something for Tom. This choice is a little less obvious, I mainly went for it a) because it's an awesome song, and b) my perverse internal i-Pod chose this as the soundtrack for watching Tom marry the delectable K.
Good work on still being alive, you guys. Keep that up.
Here, then, somewhat belatedly, is a video for R, one of my favourite moments from one of my favourite shows.
And here is something for Tom. This choice is a little less obvious, I mainly went for it a) because it's an awesome song, and b) my perverse internal i-Pod chose this as the soundtrack for watching Tom marry the delectable K.
Good work on still being alive, you guys. Keep that up.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
A Little Light Relief (Unless You're Poultry, I Guess)
Escaped tigers caught by throwing them chickens.
It isn't clear whether the chickens were roast, fried, or still squawking. Nor is the specific manner of the "throwing" discussed, though until evidence to the contrary arrives I fully intend to assume some kind of trebuchet was employed. The idea of providing all zoos and circuses with emergency chickens is one that should be studied more closely, I think. "In case of emergency, break neck".
I also enjoyed the image of the police holding the tigers at the station until their owner coughed up his fine. One wonders whether the animals were just locked in the cells with half a dozen terrified drunkards and Danny Trejo (who I have learned from Hollywood can be found in every Mexican or Californian jail simultaneously).
Of course, while I'm sure people are relieved that these dangerous animals have been rounded up and detained, can I remind the Mexican police that the chupacabra still remains at large. Perhaps some emergency goats are what is called for?
Incarcerated in multiple locations
It isn't clear whether the chickens were roast, fried, or still squawking. Nor is the specific manner of the "throwing" discussed, though until evidence to the contrary arrives I fully intend to assume some kind of trebuchet was employed. The idea of providing all zoos and circuses with emergency chickens is one that should be studied more closely, I think. "In case of emergency, break neck".
I also enjoyed the image of the police holding the tigers at the station until their owner coughed up his fine. One wonders whether the animals were just locked in the cells with half a dozen terrified drunkards and Danny Trejo (who I have learned from Hollywood can be found in every Mexican or Californian jail simultaneously).
Of course, while I'm sure people are relieved that these dangerous animals have been rounded up and detained, can I remind the Mexican police that the chupacabra still remains at large. Perhaps some emergency goats are what is called for?
Captured
Dead
Incarcerated in multiple locations
At large
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Can I Just Say...
Bosh.
Also, a brief safety announcement. Anyone possessing unopened cans of John Smith's are advised to treat them with extreme caution. Danny was foolish enough to remove one from the fridge without taking security precautions, and the damn thing exploded. Whole kitchen covered in beer, Danny constantly whining about his "soaked ass", not really a lot of fun.
Also, a brief safety announcement. Anyone possessing unopened cans of John Smith's are advised to treat them with extreme caution. Danny was foolish enough to remove one from the fridge without taking security precautions, and the damn thing exploded. Whole kitchen covered in beer, Danny constantly whining about his "soaked ass", not really a lot of fun.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Monday, 3 November 2008
200 Posts Fiesta!
Hoorah! 200 posts and I am still going strong (where "going strong" is defined as "continues to exist"). Let us celebrate this unlikely turn of events with a veritable smorgasbord of content.
- Today we celebrate Danny's birthday, he of the eponymous "Danny Show". Whilst it would be deeply tempting to offer praise to him through the medium of the maths he loves so much, it's probably less geeky to just post a video:
- Circumstances (read: whining friends) conspired to prevent me watching more than one new horror film at Halloweenapalooza this weekend. Fortunately, it was [Rec], a brilliant little zombie film from Spain which has three things going for it. Firstly, it's pretty short, and very fast. Secondly, it manages to do something no other zombie film has done, which is to suggest a reason behind the chaos that isn't total bollocks (it also leaves you to work out what the Hell the last scene is about, which is nice of them). Thirdly, the main character is almost unbearably cute (apparently a genuine Spanish TV presenter, which means this is 21st Century Spain's equivalent of Ghost Watch), and although they attempt to appeal to women as well with an (apparently) attractive fireman, he gets brutalised pretty quickly. A2 was very upset, which only added to the fun.
- Anyone looking for a blend of cuteness and full on weirdness should check out zoo animals with birthday cakes. Note especially how apparently the giant panda is somewhat more keen on cake than it apparently is in having sex, or continuing the species, or anything like that (h/t to Hullabaloo)
- Hilzoy gets a shiny penny for being the first person I've read to finally work out what I thought was obvious:
It's a real relief, after years of watching politicians grab as hard as they can for each micro-advantage at each moment in time, to see someone with larger sense of what matters: of the arc of a campaign, of when you can afford to hang back and let your opponent wear himself out, and when you need for everything to come together.
It's been obvious for months now that Obama has been saving the best for last, and that every single person who whined that he wasn't hitting hard enough and that the race was too close and wah wah wah owes the campaign an apology. I know there's no way to prove this, but I have no doubt that the electoral college wouldn't look too different to how it does now even had the financial sector not gone into melt-down. Obama fought a strategy-heavy campaign that has beaten the crap out of McCain's tactics-obsessed one, and people are finally starting to notice.
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