UB313 is a dwarf planet outside the orbit of Pluto. The discovery team nicknamed it Xena, because ‘we have alway wanted to name something Xena’. In case there’s any doubt about where the name came from, its moon was nicknamed Gabrielle. I never particularly watched the warrior princess (my hormones hadn’t quite kicked in when it started :-)) but it turns up surprisingly often on the internet.

I was hoping Xena would become the official name, but sadly the IAU has just officially officially named it Eris, after the greek goddess of strife. However, the Bad Astronomer points out that the moon is called Dysnomia - the child of Eris and god of lawlessness. Xena was played by Lucy Lawless…Could be a coincidence, but probably not
There will undoubtedly be many more Eris-sized objects found, so plenty of scope for geeky jokes. I’m sure there’s scope for a ST:TNG reference somewhere. Guinan? Marina? Locutus!

Update: Also see Skeptico’s write-up of the astrological implications of the name change.

Take this quiz!

I might have been before I took the test, but I’m just grumpy now. Via Jo.

Dwarfs, dwarves, whatever.

There is a version of Linux designed exclusively for Christians. Based on the popular ‘Ubuntu’ distribution, it’s much like your normal Linux package except it comes with bible study software, powerful parental controls and a REALLY loud alarm that goes off at 0600 every Sunday.

That last one was a little joke. But not actually my joke. There’s a whole site full, and many of them only make sense to linux admins. Those that I get are quite funny
It looks like Ubuntu Christian Edition’s parental controls actually filter websites by specific phrases. Probably things like ‘war in the middle east’, at which point the computer pops up a huge bunch of pivot-table spreadsheets to help you look busy. It’ll also randomly demand you prove yourself worthy of the OS by deleting a file of its choosing. Sometimes it’ll give it you back, sometimes it won’t. There aren’t any status bars or egg-timers, and daisy-chaining USB devices is a definite no-no. It comes with a virus scanner, which happily never requires updates - in fact the entire source code is locked down with no need for service packs - and there’s a built-in firewall.

UCE isn’t designed to be networked, however. Most installs will try to upgrade attached computers, with particular attention paid to smaller devices such as iPods or mobile phones. It also has a habit of demanding its own subnet in the larger network. It will automatically launch DoS attacks against Ubuntu Islam Edition (which it conflicts with even if installed on a separate partition), as well as rival distributions which actually have only minor source code deviations. It does come with a large amount of decent software that’s also compatible with Windows and Mac OS X, but to be frank the UI is full of unnecessary clutter that leads nowhere, as well as a fair few elements you simply have to ignore if you want to remain productive.

The kernel does, on the face of it, seem to cause a lot of problems, but advocates will point out that they’re actually caused by unrelated things such as drivers, hardware and legacy code, and criticism of the overall OS is just unfair. Especially when it’s by people who aren’t linux administrators - you need to understand the processes, you see, and that’s not possible without training in the kernel. And, you know, Windows 98 crashed too.

One last feature: when uninstalled it comes back after three days.

(ok, the final one wasn’t mine either)

At 0800 this morning the BBC released audience tickets for the new series of Strictly Come Dancing. They’re free, but available by phone only and the line was instantly engaged. My cheapest-in-the-Argos-catalogue phone does not, it turns out, have a redial button. I’d promised various people I’d do my best to get hold of tickets, and was dialling the number once every five seconds. At 0845, I got through to the BBC ticket line, where an automated guy told me to press 2 if I wanted to speak to an operative. Yay! I settled back into the chair with my paper and pen, and pressed ‘2′. I was greeted by a minute’s silence, then the line disconnected. There was a brief and exciting soliloquy, and twenty-five minutes later the process repeated itself.

The phone gods underestimate how stubborn I can get about these things, and I decided to keep trying until at least 1000, at which point I’d grab some breakfast then go back to the phone. I got through again, and nervously pressed 2. This time a friendly voice told me that lines were very busy, and I should phone back later. By this point I’d memorised the number and forgotten it again. Eventually I got lucky and was placed into the call queue, and at 1035 spoke to a lovely lady who told me there were still a few tickets available for the date I’d requested. The line went all crackly as I gave my postcode and I thought for a horrible moment it was going to disconnect, but happily it was good enough that we could understand each other. I hung up at 1040, very, very relieved.

It’s not a guaranteed booking. The BBC website says that failing to turn up can affect future applications, so I guess they check the names against their database. Not sure if there’s anything else that could affect it, but if all is ok the tickets will arrive a week before the show, so I’ll have to wait and see. There could still be one problem, though: what if Anton gets knocked out before then? I don’t know whether my companions will be consolable…:-)

Update: Have just spotted the tautology in the first four words of this post. Sorry about that, was clearly still excited at getting through

Monkeys sticking their tongues out! What more info do you need? Why are you even still reading? Get over there - nobody should go through life without seeing this.

I like the protective glasses. Presumably they’re in case the monkey turns out to have a forked tongue.

I don’t like wireless networks. Well, that’s not true. Wireless networks are actually great, what I don’t like is supporting wireless networks. There are approximately 900 causes than result in the same symptom: the network disconnecting. It’s surprisingly difficult to even start pinning down the reason, you just have to try things until it starts working again. And even the most stable of connections will just drop off sometimes - that’s just the way it is (once every couple of months is perfectly reasonable behaviour). As you may have gathered, I’m struggling with this at the moment. It seems to disconnect at all security levels, on all channels, with the latest router firmware and card drivers, and never when I’m around and watching. I’m close to replacing the hardware bit by bit, which isn’t a very sophisticated solution.

Ah well. Today was nevertheless good, as I saw a kingfisher. I like kingfishers

After cooking tea just now, I have some safety advice to impart. It’s quite subtle, and you may want to concentrate. Ok, here we go.

Do not use your fingers to pick up plates that have just been in the oven.

Ow shitting ouch. Ten minutes under the cold tap and ow shitting ouch. It’s amazing I’m as old as I am, frankly.

Hard to believe it was five years ago. It’s one of very few examples, for me, of a news event really meaning ‘things will never be the same again’. I remember thinking the world was going to end. In another five years these will be nearing completion:

I’m sure people will whine about the design, because that’s what people do when it comes to architecture, but I think they look great.

This evening I had a 90-minute IM debate over the Flying Spaghetti Monster. My friend is neither a creationist nor particularly religious, but after finding the FSM link on this site said that it seemed patronising. I’m not going to continue my argument in a one-sided blog post - that would be remarkably unfair - but I’ll try to articulate her point.

Bit of background: the Flying Spaghetti Monster is a deity created in response to the Kansas school board’s hearings on whether to include ‘Intelligent Design’ in US science classes. ‘Intelligent Design’ says that the world has clear elements of design, and that standard evolutionary theory is demonstrably false. It’s creationism in a hat. The Flying Spaghetti Monster is worshipped by many, and His followers believe that if ‘Intelligent Design’ has a place in science classrooms, so does the FSM. After all: He created the universe and everything in it, this much is clear. The standard scientific methods of evidence are insufficient because:

what our scientist does not realize is that every time he makes a measurement, the Flying Spaghetti Monster is there changing the results with His Noodly Appendage. We have numerous texts that describe in detail how this can be possible and the reasons why He does this. He is of course invisible and can pass through normal matter with ease.

Oh, and:

[I]t is disrespectful to teach our beliefs without wearing His chosen outfit, which of course is full pirate regalia.

The FSM analogy works well, I think, because it results in creationists arguing against themselves. Every argument against the clearly insane FSM theory of creation applies equally to ‘Intelligent Design’.

So what’s the problem?

• My friend said that the nature of the FSM is childish and patronising. I disagreed, saying that the point is that it makes no sense and is clearly ridiculous.
• She said that the impression from the FSM is that we think creationists are idiots. I replied that I, and all Pastafarians, do not think (or, at least, recognise that such thoughts are not part of any valid argument) that creationists are idiots, just that their theory of ‘Intelligent Design’ is moronic - it’s fine to attack ideas, but not people.
• She said that they will react as if we’ve treated them like idiots, because of the initial impression the FSM gives. I conceded that this may sometimes be the case, even though it’s not the point of the argument. I said that the ‘teach all sides’ argument is compelling to many people and the FSM is a fast, clear analogy that does not directly criticise their religion, and causes them to argue against themselves. People should not be offended when they see the point.
• She said that she can see how the FSM works as an effective tool, but that it is nevertheless patronising because we should talk to them like adults: there are better ways to articulate the point without parodying creation myths and drawing cartoons.

And that was where we left it. It’s not a bad point, on the face of it. Even though the underlying message of the FSM is sound, it is vaguely conceivable that there could be somebody intelligent and logically-minded for whom it could be patronising, although I suspect this may be a straw-man creationist. I’m also not sure that they’re the intended target. This is the point I’m struggling with (although it’s 0130 and I’m not terribly awake :-)). While you could argue that when serious debate is needed it’s easily provided, and that the FSM has generated large amounts of useful publicity, could it actually cause resentment in otherwise rational people? Are there circumstances in which it’s reasonable to see the FSM as patronising?

A jolly song demonstrating why we should be scared of god. Not safe for work, or anybody easily offended.

I’m just back from Much Ado About Nothing, the first play I’ve seen since moving to Stratford. I decided on Monday that I should really put some effort into seeing various shows of The Complete Works before they close, and managed to pick up a last minute-ticket for tonight’s performance. It must have been one of very few remaining, as the system wouldn’t sell me two. There were various plays I was interested in, but my main motivation for seeing Much Ado was the presence of Tamsin Greig as the quick-witted, sexy Beatrice, as it seemed like she’d fit the part perfectly. And she did.

I hadn’t been to the Swan Theatre before. I imagine everybody but me knew what to expect, but it came as a real surprise. I expected it to be like the RST and any other theatre, but found that the stage is in the centre, with three levels surrounding it. I was on the first gallery, where you hop onto fairly high seats with your legs dangling. It was strangely fun, and I certainly felt more involved with the play than I do in larger venues.

Tonight’s performance was ‘open-captioned’, meaning the words were displayed on an LED screen in-time with the play. Unfortunately the screen failed to work during the first half, and an RSC representative actually apologised to everybody for the resulting commotion. I hadn’t noticed, but I can imagine it would have been frustrating for anybody with hearing problems. I suspect there was some kind of compensation, since open-captioned performances are infrequent.

This interpretation of Much Ado was set in the 1950s, with the associated glamourous atmosphere of classily-dressed people in smoky bars. I’m a sucker for this era, probably because it seems so romantic, and couldn’t help but smile when I saw the set. The theatre was filled with a slight haze to add to this atmosphere, and it extended through the foyer, making the theatre look almost magical from a distance.

I really, really enjoyed the play. I studied Much Ado during my A-Levels, but never actually saw it performed live and this was a revelation. It’s remarkable how much more more natural the dialogue seems on stage - even compared to the Kenneth Branagh film version - and there were many occasions where an inflection, pause or facial expression made me pick up on a meaning I hadn’t spotted previously, particularly in Beatrice and Benedick’s frequent verbal battles. I liked that it was serious enough to be moving, and very funny without descending into inanity (I hate farce). I’ve certainly never laughed so much before - I didn’t know it was possible for it to be that funny, to be honest. The cast were all very good, but Tamsin Greig was, as ever, great. She wasn’t the only famous name: there was also the guy from the thing, which will hopefully come to me in the next couple of days.

Definitely a great evening out, and I highly recommend it.

Bit of a YouTube-fest recently, but this made me laugh too much not to post:

This style is familiar:

Snakes on a Plane comments on western society’s hypocritical view of sexuality, and its repression of said sexuality through the symbolic use of snakes representing western society.

The most obvious example of sexuality in SoaP is the actual sex scene. This is an important facet of the movie, because the people having sex become the first victim of the snakes. This simple first act already lays out the snake’s hatred for sex. Western society’s (the snake’s) disdain for sexuality becomes more and more obvious as the specific targets of the snakes takes focus during the movie. While the background attacks are given no great importance, the targets that deal with sexuality are. The breast, the genitals, the tongue, the buttocks, and even the eye are all popular signs of sexuality in today’s society. While the eye, at first glance, may seem a-sexual, in fact the eye can be used as a primary tool of sexuality. When one person sees another of the opposite sex, they subconsciously (and sometimes very consciously) observe their figure to determine their potential virility. Even this kind of unconscious sexuality can get you killed in today’s society. Snakebites on the neck also appear as a motif repeated throughout Snakes on a Plane. While this might seem normal, in fact, it is a subtle nod towards a lover gently kissing his companion’s neck. In all these attacks, the bites kill or injure. This shows western society’s hatred for any open sign of sexuality.

I’ve no idea whether this is serious, but it feels like a school essay and is a great example of how to get good grades in the humanities I used to produce this kind of thing all the time in my English Lit. classes, which seem stranger the older I get. As I remember it, there was a sure-fire way to succeed in English Lit.:

1. Read something ‘meaningful’. Let’s say it’s ‘The Life and Loves of a She-Devil’ by Fay Weldon.
2. Find vaguely related concept in other literature, preferably classic. Fay Weldon’s main character has similarities to Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid, for example.
3. Extrapolate wildly. The author’s clever use of water in this scene symbolises the cleaning of sin…The tragic ending is an ironic juxtaposition…etc.

It doesn’t mean anything, but examiners love that stuff. What you must never do is criticise the text. I found the feminist theme in She-Devil to be muddled and nonsensical: irony heaped upon ambiguous metaphor leading to nothing much. I had problems with the classics, too: Hamlet’s age changes from late-teens to early-thirties as the play, which takes place over a few months, progresses. Clever metaphor for maturing, blah blah, but this is a stage production, not a novel, and I never understood how this could work in the theatre with a real actor. My teacher wasn’t too bad and I could get away with asking this kind of question in class (although I never did about Hamlet - it’s entirely possible there’s a valid answer there), but it was always clear that in coursework or exams I was to stick to doctrine and gush over the language, draw inferences, make up analogies, etc.

Fair enough, but as a result I lost interest in the subject. I came out with a good grade but no desire to study it further. I guess I was starting to realise that literary criticism is entirely subjective, which wasn’t ever suggested by the A-Level. There really were right and wrong answers, which is just silly. The subject put me off reading anything ‘high-brow’ for years, as if the snobby attitudes were somehow the fault of the texts.

It’s possible that hindsight is cruel. There may well have been teachers with a genuine love of literature who simply wanted to share this with their students. Maybe the examiners would have reacted favourably to questions - maybe I just gamed the system. But it’s hard to see the concept of examining people on the meaning of literature as anything but bizarre. Really, you need only make any vaguely cogent statement in grammatically correct fashion to get full marks - how can two viewpoints be compared objectively? I sometimes wonder whether the subject makes more sense at university-level, but not for long.

This isn’t meant to criticise the SoaP essay, which I admire greatly. I don’t think I’d ever have come up with that analogy.

We started learning the Viennese Waltz this evening. It’s very fast with almost continual spins, which makes it quite tricky. I didn’t get very far tonight, but our teachers demonstrated a full-speed routine and it looks great - I’m looking forward to improving on it. The man always has to lead strongly in ballroom dances, but because of the speed it’s particularly important in this case. If Lynsey or I make a mistake and head in opposite directions the immediate response is to pull her back into line, but when it’s me who erred (far more common) I feel guilty - it’s literally manhandling someone, after all. Hopefully this will stop happening once we improve a little Here’s how it looks at very high standards:

Maybe one day

As represented by Steve Carell and Steven Colbert:

Smoted? Smitten? Smode?