From Year to Eternity

Halloween is rubbish at Pollock Halls. Everyone already seems to have done all manner of exciting spooky things while I was busy vomiting over a spreadsheet, and so tonight everyone's wandering around looking glum, and I have Oxbridge levels of work, most of which involves quoting journals that don't appear to exist. Spooky.

Still, there's a much more exciting event than National Be Terrified By Greedy Children Day on: Today is the first anniversary of Pan Bloglodytes, or my "Blogloversary", to coin the worst phrase ever. I feel kind of smug for my blog lasting this long, even if it is now in a hugely altered form, and the most interesting thing that was ever on it I nicked from Horizon, then deleted in a rage. Smugger too for having readers: you're greatm you are, all of you, and if you ever want to comment at how blatently stupid something I've said is, for God's sake do. I think the last time I said something intelligent was about five years ago, and it involved noodles.

Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to do tonight. So dress up and Scare well, and don't hesitate to combine todays events by dressing up as a cynical, undead chimpanzee. I do that pretty much every day of the year, after all.

Bigot Bob and the Pirates: The Worst Band Ever

I feel guilty for writing the last post, in a brazenly cynical sort of way. See, as my Blog veers ever further from the "cheerful observations about life" zone to the "ruthless Bigot who'll hunt you and your family down" one, I become less and less able to tell anyone about it. Why, a mere five days ago I could have had any number of Creationist cartoonists reading and politely chuckling, and now if I'll ask they'll spit all over me, using amylase-production ducts designed from above. I only mention all this because I had to tell my Christian friends to not look at my blog until I'd, like, written more stuff to obscure the last bit for ever and ever and ever, before they instantly went and looked at it. And Lord knows what they thought, quite possibly literaly.

Still, the hideous car crash between Religion, Secularism, and cartoons aside, I've had quite a good weekend, largely thanks to the aforementioned Christians, who are a lot more fun than I could possibly be without the assistance of some form of nose made out of balloons. We went to the cinema, gazed at the baffling art outside it, and ended up getting kidnapped by some Pirates as a result, which probably isn't what the art installation people had in mind. Mercifuly, though, they turned out to be the friendliest pirates ever, and gave us loads of jelly beans and sofas before letting us get away with narry a ransom at all, arr. Halloween, you see. Walking home I couldn't tell which people were dressed up and which weren't, being a hopeless simpleton Rube.

Which was better than today, when I went to the Swimming Pool, remembered I couldn't swim, and flailed around helplessly while some eight year olds laughed at me, and spent a good twenty minutes working out a calander for a 25-hour day, on the grounds it's be much better, before remembering that it wouldn't work. There was no November, which was great. November really sucks. That's all today.

I'm Right! You're Wrong! Schsnawww!

Tolerance is a bit like sex-Everybody says they practice it a lot more than they do, and it seems everyone else is doing more exotic things with it than you are. I've always felt that being a scrawny nerd makes you naturaly suspicious of tolerance; too often, it seems that people stop attacking, say, Asians, because that's racist, and start attacking Computer Nerds instead, because Computer Nerds aren't a race and mindless violence is great, because everyone says so (Mindless violence is also a bit like sex-It's somewhat less interesting than everyone gives it credit for, although admitedly I have no experience of either one). The fact that you're still bunching a group of people together for an arbitary reason, of course, means that this is pretty much as intolerant. I admit it doesn't seem that way, though, if only because I'm terrified I've just written a Racist Slur without meaning to. For God's sake, don't think I want you to attack Asians. Or Nerds.

I bring this all up because I was on Answers in Genesis, the well-known Creationist website ( http://www.answersingenesis.org . Don't go there) today, to see if I could use a quote for my essay on evolution. Boy, I'll never make that mistake again. The place is hideously, rampantly intolerant, and seems to regard the concept of Atheism as others might regard the concept of marrying Noel Edmonds. It's not the articles that I mind (although I found the criticism of the use of the word "evolving" to describe Bird Flu, because even though it was, in fact, evolving, it might make the public think they came from an ameoba somewhat baffling) although there do seem to be a rather large number of logical fallacies hovering around. What bothered me were the cartoons. They're for children, and deign to educate them. Looking through them, it seemed the only thing they could possibly educate them to be was unbearably smug psychopaths. The "humour", such as it is, involves such japes as several people who don't believe in God being crushed to death, or, in a witheringly funny exchange, a boy commenting that Evolution must be wrong because Science can't predict the weather, the punchline presumably being that he doesn't understand Chaos Theory, and is an idiot. I was shocked. Honestly. Creationism claims to be a moral force-and, indeed, AiG blames Evolution for being responsible for pretty much all the evils in the modern World today-but to show such evident glee in the idea that the Scientists are wrong, and they're going to Hell, and look at this stupid man in a white coat, Ho Ho frikin' Ho-is about as moral as announcing you're going to deliberately abort some babies, set fire to them, and throw them at Mormons for fun. Because Science is ultimately where all the intolerance is aimed at, you know. Accused of being hideously powerful, it's always seemed to me to be one of the weakest things in the World, constantly sniped at and manipulated by people who don't understand, and sneer at people who do. And yet the ideal of Science, and the point of Science, is to fight for it to survive, to rip it and mould it into something that doesn't care what you say will happen, or has happened because it has a pretty good idea itself. Which is an idea you won't accept, because all the best ideas in Science are ones it's a struggle to accept. Some of the worst, too.

Which isn't to say they're wrong at AiG, of course, although empirical evidence and philosophy suggest they probably, and in cases certainly, are. It's to try and get them to take the cartoons down, and to stop with the "We're right and they're wrong!" sctick in absolutely every article on the site. Because Intolerance is nothing but sneering, in the end, and even sneering at your enemy is the sort of thing that has a habit of blowing up in your face, especialy, despite how hard it is, when you're supposed to be loving the poor guys.

Hiatus Here. Nyah.

Being an Evolutionary Biologist (kind of) is great and all, but there are some small things that get to you. Most things people think that Evolutionary Biology implies, such as killing your neighbours for fun and burning effigies of Jesus, it doesn't really, but occasionaly one or two of the more awkward bits slip through into your mind. It is the case, for example, that Evolution implies an awful lot of suffering on behalf of the animals of the World, although, as anyone who's spent any time studying the animals of the World will testify, there's an awful lot of suffering no matter what you believe. What bothers me more is this: Most things fail. While I was on Holiday back in Aberdeen (Which, given I haven't posted in eight days, which I'll get to, you might not actualy know about, but hey), I saw a book with this very title, and it got me thinking depressing thoughts. I had a project to buy it, but you know how these things go. Far from being the Survival of the Fittest, Evolution is more the Survival of the least Rubbish: Your bicycle might only have one wheel, but you'll still win the race if everyone else is riding a bicycle with no wheels. Unless everyone ran past you, which they would. Anyway. The idea is important in Blogs, which I was trying to get to in a more torturous way than usual.

Most Blogs fail. And I thought Bloglodytes had, for a while: It's been some time, after all, and my constant state of being exhausted seems to be becoming an accelerating state of being exhausted, especialy as the weeks wear on and the idea that I have to learn all these Latin names for things that would kill me begins to sink in. My first four blogs all failed. My friends blogs, as far as I know, never update anymore, even the really good one with the 3500 word post about how all stages of life are rubbish, and leave me alone. Even Gay at Edinburgh never made it past two posts, which is a crying shame. I wasn't sure what hope little old this had.

But I do now. I was round at my friend's house on Sunday, and it all suddenly seemed worthwhile. My friend's family, see, all appear to have become regular readers without me realising, and they were demanding to know where all the updating went (and, true, if I hadn't been exhausted there'd have been a great story here, involving lots of broken glass and the French language). I was amazed, and happy.

So I was too tired to Blog, but I'm not now, because people actualy read it. That took three long paragraphs to say. I'd be more concise, but I'd probably fail. Hard life, is Evolutionary Biology.

A Fly in the Ointment: Biology gets Scary

You know those rite of passage things they have in America? (If you are, in fact, from America, which you probably are given my one regular reader is, then of course you'll know far more about it than me, and proceed to beat me over the head for the ensuing ignorance, with a giant Internet-stick). They take young Freshers, then they tie them up, attach them to the bottom of an Iceberg, and tamper with an Oil Tanker so spectacular ice-ravaged chaos ensues, and give the Students that are still alive at the end of it some sort of homoerotic club membership. As is my understanding. Anyway, I'm going through that, sort-of-but-not-really, on a massively reduced scale, living in Britain and all. I have to kill flies on Friday. And God, but I don't want to do that.

I know, before you say anything. I think its mildly ridiculous as well. In a World where ten year olds go to war and flee their burning homes, something like a quarter of the human population is suffering a ridiculous volume of disaster punctuated with incompetance, and, according to LiveJournal, some kid's Mom has grounded him on the day of the fukin' important game, WTF, having to kill flies loses some of its Epic qualities. But I'll try to explain, anyway. Scoff if you will.

I wasn't always this hideously wussy. Back when I was about five, I would tear the legs off Mayflies to see what happened (not very much, because it didn't have any legs, and couldn't move. A four year old could have figured that one out), and jump on slaters to observe the small puddle they left on the ground. Not anymore. As I matured, I began to see the error of my ways. The legless ghosts of mayflies and the everythingless ghosts of slaters would haunt my childish dreams, which being childish dreams were frankly terrifying enough already. By the time I was ten, I was a changed boy. I went round outdoor Swimming Pools heroicly, saving flies that were drowning therein. And it felt good, by damnit. I had attoned for my sins. And as far as I can remember I haven't purposely killed anything since, although given I'm clumsy I've accidently killed about ten billion things, and given I live in the Western World the hideous volume of woe and suffering my existance has caused is quite possibly too great to comprehend. Principles, though. You have to have principles.

I think individual life becomes more important to an Atheist, not less. When something only gets one bite out of the proverbial cheesecake, you want to make sure it savours it as much as possible. Killing flies seems to violate that some way. It's maybe not the killing that frightens me so much as people's reactions to it-which, more often than not, involve high degrees of uncontrolled glee, and uneasy jokes. I have a suspicion most of the great evils in the World were caused to some degree by the making of uneasy jokes. We're being taught genetics, but we're also being taught to accept the morality we're handed down, and bugger the consequences. Scientists shouldn't have to do that. Especialy not Biologists, given the somewhat dizzying power we seem to be able to wield. I feel I should at least take notice.

And I'm scared of myself, as well. Scared because I know I'll be in there on Friday sorting and dumping them, examining them then discarding them (Discarding. It says that, in the course guide. That scares me too), and more probably than not making uneasy jokes, which may or may not involve uncontrolled glee. Scared because it may be just flies, but given a rat, a pig, a person, so many of us would still be in there, because at the end of the day to cow against conformity is more terrifying than to go against what and who you are. Scientists are supposed to be objective. But we can't be objective if we don't think, because then what we hold up as objectivity is nothing more than a poorly formulated opinion, and so the most subjective thing of all. We should be breaking that down, not building it up.

That was a terribly formulated and poorly expressed argument. I'm sorry about that. Maybe it'll be great, the killing flies. But I don't know, and the not knowing is scary. It's hard to grope in the dark with a candle, but even more so when you're burning and charring the living World around you, searching for something that you know must be there, and which everything desperately needs, but which never emerges from the sometimes-lightened gloom.

Look Who's Dawkins

I haven't, when it comes down to it, exactly had a normal teenage life. Everything appeared to be going smoothly, with me becoming typicaly jaded and even managing the odd bout of angst about something stupid like having lost my jacket or the ultimate nature of matter in the universe, until I was about fourteen, when everything fell apart. I'm still not quite sure why. All I know is that after that, the concept of being a teenager seemed as oddly terrifying to me as it would to an eighty year old Mail reader who's just been beaten up by a gang who want his teeth to sell for drugs. It might have something to do with my being an imbicile.

Anyway, the point of all this. While most people my age were discovering music and substances, I was at home looking at trees, but I was still, essentialy, a teenager, and teenagers get obsessed with things. But I didn't get obsessed with what a lot of people do, for better or for worse (and it is a source of at least mild regret to me that while I can hold a conversation about the value of Socrates' teachings in the modern age, a conversation about "music I like" or "How mad drunk I've been" will always be beyond me), and turned to books, like any good citizen who scores "all three" on an "Are you a Dork, Geek or Nerd?" test would. Which all makes it sound like I had a miserable teenagerhood. I didn't. Reading books all the time is great. All you Hedonists missed the boat.

The reason is really just this: It was at least thanks to my teen-phobia I discovered evolution, which is why I'm studying Biology, which is why I'm here at Edinburgh (partialy, althougth the story behind that is an entry to itself) , which is why I'm typing this now, which is why your eyes are glazing over and suicide is beginning to seem like just that little bit more plausible an option. It's amazing, these chains of events. But the fact I'm interested in evolution, and probably the fact I even believe in evolution, is pretty much down to one man. It was his books that threw me a rope that, when followed, led to a giant net of evidence and analogies that made the World make sense in a way nobody, and nothing, else ever has in quite the same way. And I saw him last night, lecturing. And it was amazing.

You need the context, you see. Richard Dawkins, who's who I'm talking about, who's great, buy all his books now, is to me what the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and questionable acid were to the students of the, um, age where all that happened. The man bloody shaped me as an adult, which considering he advocates the eradication of all Religon from the World is kind of a scary thought. But to see him talk- on a facinating subject, convergence in Evolution, where life happens on the same solutions again and again and again, which hints that natural selection, far from creating species randomly, is actualy in a sense even more ordered than we thought- was just amazing, especially considering he lived up to all my expectations and wasn't short, like everyone is supposed to be in real life, or as shockingly ugly as a sack of potatoes covered in piercings, like Ringo Starr. Even more amazing than the way he can explain anything, incredably clearly, to a bunch of people with no idea of what he's talking about in half an hour, was how he answered the questions afterwards- There was a "Don't you think Fascism is great?" question, and he explained why no, it wasn't, on clear and exciting terms. To someone who believes that evolution, properly understood, aids rather than subtracts from any moral sense it was like all my Christmasses colliding with all my Birthdays to create some sort of cake-filled bliss.

And I got to go to Dundee to see him, with the Philosophy Society, and they have something called the "Bonar Hall". It's hard to imagine things getting better than that. Richard Dawkins, then. Wow.

Into Winter: The Dull Bit Continues

Edinburgh, lovely as it is, is a lot like a celebrity: It seems beautiful and lovely when the tourists are around, but becomes cold, icy and waterlogged when they leave. And we've finaly crossed the threshold, it seems: I crossed at least three massive puddles on my way home today, one of which was a road. The rain is falling horizontaly, upwards, and in basicly any direction which ensures it'll hit my face. It's going to be fun when the foreign students realise just how far North they really are, which judging by today will be very soon indeed.

The work really is piling up, now: I'm writing a report on an experiment I haven't done yet, which is a bit metaphysical of me. The only reason I can be here talking to you, as opposed to using triangles to work out how fast a gazelle dies, is because I left all my work at home by mistake, and I can't be bothered in any case right now. It is very cold.

Interesting things soon, I promise. But not now. Icicles are forming on my thumbs.

Downhill Racing: Behold the Suckicity

I had a much better time than I thought I would at the Dinner thing, especially due to the sausages. But you probably knew that already, and it happened so long ago now that I can't really remember the details, hugely exciting as they probably were (they were good sausages). So I won't talk about that.

I'm sorry it's been so long since an update. If you've kept a Blog, and perhaps even more if you haven't, you'll understand that life has a habit of looking at your schedule, laughing, and rolling on anyway, really really fast. When I haven't been working or out at hilarious Blog-worthy events I've been too exhausted to write, because of the working and, to a far lesser extent, the events. But I'm sorry. I'll write more soon, and you'll be impressed.

...My, but for a "non-stereotypical", "non-angsty" blog, everything's become remarkably angsty and stereotypical. I'm sorry about that as well. It's the tiredness more than anything. I'll sleep soon, and perhaps then be able to tell you about my adventure with the drunken eighty year olds, or how my Common Room floor got covered in chicken, or about how Going Postal by Terry Pratchett is really really good and you should read it now, no matter how popular it is. But not now. I'm tired now.

The Masson House Rules

I don't think in any of my posts I've described what life is like in Masson House, so here goes: life in Masson House is rubbish and it's mostly my fault. Mostly. It isn't my fault that every floorboard in the building is warped. But it is my fault that I've found myself knowing less than ten people's names after almost a month. Don't be ill in Fresher's Week, kids. Especially not during the compulsory "bonding with your house" bit. Otherwise, you'll emerge virus free to discover everybody knows everybody else, and will look at you as though you are a strange smell, which, if you're me, you probably are. I still haven't really got the hang of laundry.

I mention all this because the Masson House Dinner Party starts in around 20 minutes, and I am terrified. If I die, which in all probability I will, this will be the last post in the Blog, as it will be if I become paralysed for life after everyone holds my mouth open and pours alcohol down it. My strategy as it currently stands is to run towards the, ooh, 3 people who I know and not leave them at any cost.

That's the thing, see. I'm incredably antisocial in the house, far more so than outside it (and, if you've met me outside it, you'll understand that's taking antisocialbility to quite staggering new heights), and I can't stop. I have Massonphobia: I run away from the girl next door, avoid every male who isn't from Luxembourg (and one who is), and haven't been in the pantry for two weeks out of fear I might see someone. I don't actualy know why this is, although I suspect hearing about the wild exploits of everyone in the corridor at 3:30am through three pillowsworth of muffling might have something to do with it. I'm not my biggest fan.

So tonight could go either way. I could spend it hunched, glaring, and not saying anything, or I could go into constant gabbling mode, which given my gabbling skills since starting Uni would probably be even worse. I might also die. It isn't fun. Currently I'm favouring the first of the two, if only because my clothes at the moment haven't dried from the laundry three days ago, so I resemble a hideous fungus beast, or an Old Crone in an exceptionaly low-budget movie. But we'll see. Wish me luck, in the virtual world.

Appropriately, the post on Politics arrives days late, overbudget, and isn't very good

I'm sorry about the lack of updating over the weekend. Interesting things happened, but they all had a tendancy to exhaust me horribly in increasingly humiliating ways, so there we go. This might be a short post as it is, as the cleaning lady is in the next room over, and given the number of crumbs in here, I'm pretty sure she hasn't been in here yet. So I'll try and be concise, then I'll fail.

I had a great night last night, again involving nothing stronger than hot chocolate. I went to the Politics Society by mistake, and ended up listening to a debate on ID cards, which, as everyone who they'd got to speak in favour of ID cards hadn't turned up, morphed into a "let's all critisise ID cards" fest. I even ended up forming a vauge opinion, which, if memory serves, was "Politics is a bit rubbish".

Anyway, things got interesting after that. Ish. I met the vice-secretary of the Edinburgh University Labour Party, who's, well, a parody of himself. Ask him a question and he'll answer it in perfect Politicalese, complete with Blairite pauses. I was bloody impressed at his defence of the bit of the Labour Conference when they threw out the 82 year old man, which he almost made sound like a good idea. He could probably justify murdering Tory candidates in their sleep, and we'd all giggle and smile. Politics is a bit rubbish.

That's all I can really put without risking libel action, sadly. Until I can muster the strength for a decent update, sleep well. And be aware of what your opinions actualy are, just in case someone comes along and gives you one of their own, bit by bit in tiny soundbites.