And on a more light-hearted note...

"Hello?"

"Hello, I am Andrew [or Paul? it was a generic English-sounding name] calling from [something] research. May I speak to Mr Nash please."

"As Sab'yn wal Jau?"

"Is Mr Nash available?"

"Safot softim bi'Quarthadast."

"Are you Mr Nash?"

"Inama nishuf al a sadarr. Eyann zaratha zarati. Kali bakka a tishuf a hett. Al a hudad alman dali."

"....

Sorry for wasting your time, sir."

[click. dooooooooooooooooo]

Damn cold callers. But they don't have a response to ancient or fictional languages.

Reflections on 8 Years

Okay, a personal post. Not particularly interesting to many people I imagine. In fact, this is perhaps more for myself than the entertainment or enjoyment of any reader.

Tomorrow (Friday 27th May 2011) marks the end of 8 years of Secondary Education. There are still exams to sit, but after tomorrow I will never have a true lesson again.

8 years. Let's take a look back.

September 2003. I, as an 11 year old, started as a Year 7 at South Hunsley school. I made other friends reasonably quickly and sufficiently strongly. This was punctuated by hellish trips on the bus every other morning. Overall rating: meh.

Year 8. A good year. I had firm friends. Bullying issues evaporated. I had good teachers, did well and generally enjoyed myself.

Year 9. A "meh" year. The system in the school meant that we were now divided into groups from all around the year. I was largely cut off from some friends except during lunchtimes. Did well in subjects but in fact found Science painfully slow-I knew literally everything they taught us already from my own casual interests.

Year 10. Cracks appeared. Some friends and acquaintances started behaving in less-friendly ways. A few did 180-degree turns and became openly hostile. Though this was punctuated by mini-fame brought by making a two-second long clip satirising a teacher (Bradsheep), the overall atmosphere came to a head in June or July with me snapping and punching one Adam Medforth in the head. Bad times followed.

Year 11. Near-ceaseless bullying campaigns throughout the year. Though I started the year predicted A*-B grades at GCSE, this slipped and my actual results ended up as 4 Bs and 6 Cs. I learned a useful but ultimately devastating method for dealing with the stress. I completely shut off emotions altogether except for at a few moments every day, when I allowed good feelings to emerge whilst still forcing negative ideas down. I became almost incapable of articulating myself and ended up having a very quiet emotional breakdown about March-April 2008 sort of time. Eventually one teacher did notice my decreasing drive and notified the head of year who coaxed me into letting it all out. The bullying ceased, but the paranoia I had picked up remained.

Year 12 (round 1). Though emotionally drained by the previous year, I nevertheless managed to get something at least resembling enjoyment out of this year. Except in Chemistry, which both piled work on and contained Adam Medforth in the class. Guess which subject I came out with a "U" in?

Year 12 was a crushing disaster. I came out with a D, two Es and a U. So I did it again.

Year 12 (round 2). I started again. Though it was a far better year than had been experienced the last 3 years, I nevertheless made the mistake of not making more of an effort to socialise with the people in my classes. I chose to hang around with people from my age year. Any kind of a social life simply did not exist.

Year 13. Probably the best year since year 8. My paranoia has evaporated. Whatever happens, I am effectively guaranteed a place at university. I have a large group to be around at lunchtimes. And though I'm perhaps still not the most social of people, I nevertheless get out more than I did the last 3 years. In terms of emotional recovery I certainly owe more than might be suspected to various people.

Although I enjoy this specific year, I will be very glad to see the back of secondary education.

On Male Infant Circumcision

Ooh, a controversial topic, this.

Male infant circumcision when there is no immediate medical requirement is, to my mind, a barbaric practice; a relic from the bronze age that has no place in the 21st century. I will not say and do not believe that people who circumcise their child are barbaric. Rather, they are woefully misinformed, misled, or in some cases didn't do adequate research into the issue before making the decision to have their son's foreskin removed. We are so used to the idea of male circumcision that we inadvertently trivialise it and don't see it as a big enough issue.

Here is a basic overview: male circumcision removes 15 square centimetres of the single most sensitive organ in the body. According to every major study (to which I will be happy to link on request) the sensation of pleasure during orgasm for circumcised males is dramatically reduced. The foreskin contains the largest concentration of sensory nerve endings found in the body (between 10000 and 20000 per square centimetre).

There are, however, health benefits to circumcision. Numerous studies have shown that circumcised men have a slightly reduced chance of contracting HIV. The HIV uses certain cells in the foreskin as binding sites to infect the host. Also, the many folds in the foreskin allow the virus to linger on the penis, increasing the chance of transmission. Naturally, however, there is no adequate substitute for using a condom.

Circumcision also slightly reduces the chances of urinary tract infection, as the foreskin can trap dirt and debris which can introduce infection-causing micro-organisms. Simply spending a couple of seconds cleaning the area in the shower all but removes the additional risk.

Male circumcision is not on a par with female genital mutilation. Female genital cutting usually involves removing the clitoris and clitoral hood. The closest approximation for a male would be to remove the foreskin as well as the glans. If any males reading this winced at the idea, they will understand why female genital mutilation is internationally illegal.

That said, the closest approximation to male circumcision is the removal of only the clitoral hood. Women who undergo this procedure (also internationally illegal) claim a loss of sensation, but still come to orgasm with the same frequency. Bear in mind that the removal of the clitoral hood comes with its own health benefits that almost mirror those for males circumcision There is, shockingly, a pro-female circumcision crowd who frequently cite such findings. In fact, some of them go so far as to claim it is sexist to allow males the medical benefits but not females.

This blog post is not intended to in any way trivialise the barbaric practice of female genital mutilation. I do not and would never advocate the legalisation of such a barbaric practice. Rather, I am advocating that male circumcision be made illegal. I hope that within my lifetime, many countries will go down that road as public awareness increases.

Comments are-naturally-free and anonymous.

The Most Important Phrase In the World

Every war, every instance of bigotry, every act of douchebaggery ever carried out. All of them could have been prevented with a simple phrase. The phrase must not be spoken spitefully or it loses its effect. It must also be listened to and taken on board.

The phrase is this:

"Get over yourself."

Rivers of blood might not have been spilled, had those three words only been spoken to the right people.

"Germany will rule the world!" Hitler might have cried. "Kill the Jews! Butcher the Gypsies! The Aryan race is superior!"

"Get over yourself!" would be the response. "Germany's alright, but it's not that good. You're just a cunt!"

"I am infallible!" the first Pope might have cried. "God speaks through me! Believe or be damned!"

"Get over yourself!" would be the response. "You're not that interesting to talk to! Go back to you child porn stash!"

"I will destroy you!" might some forgotten king have said.

"I will destroy you!" might some other forgotten king have said.

"Fucking get over yourselves!" the response would cry out, clear and loud. "Do you think your descendants will give a flying fuck about your petty squabbles? Do you think, oh great rulers, that your very names will be remembered, thousands of years from now? Your puny realms will crumble into dust. Not a trace of your ever having existed will remain. Be friends. Share."

And would any of them ever listen. Of course not. But if they had, we could be exploring the galaxy by now.

Is This Not Enough?

Some people see a star and believe it has some effect on their future.

Some people see extraordinary events and believe it happened for their benefit. Even if that benefit is only as small as giving them something pretty to look at.

Some people are told how big the universe is, how small they are and get depressed and frightened. They would rather be important.

There is no need for this. Reality is a wonderful place and is made all the more wonderful by understanding it. I know that when I stand outside at night, over 300 billion stars are bathing me in their faint light. I have seen the Milky Way without light pollution, seen the immense dust lanes blot out the intensity of the galactic core, seen it for what it is. An immense disc, turning just once in 250 million years. Absolutely, staggeringly huge beyond any comprehension. The image at the top of this post is what you actually see.

The Galaxy is immense. But it is itself only one of several hundred billion galaxies. These galaxies pull each other together. They form clusters. And these clusters form threads and filaments to produce one incomparably huge structure-the universe.

Many people know this. But to comprehend it is something else entirely. No one does this. Not all the time, at any rate. I have perhaps managed it twice. The first time was in Australia, when I first saw the Galaxy. It really hits you like a mental brick wall. It is a spiritual experience, but I at least did not feel it actually came from some spirit.

So many people look at reality and ask "Is this it? Is there nothing more? It's alright, but it's not that good, is it?" So they create stories and fictions around it. They desecrate reality with their childish daydreams and imaginings, when they could be getting so much more by making the effort to understand and comprehend.

Yes, this is it. It is reality. What more could you fucking want?

Monomoron-a new concept

The term "moron" is thrown around a lot. Mainly at stupid people, because they deserve it. But what about people who are actually really intelligent, but hold the occasional stupid belief? For example, a creationist doctor, or an astrology-believing scientist? Or a neo-Nazi rationalist? Or a homophobic psychologist?

I have decided to call these people monomorons. They are reasonable, sensible people who also hold batshit crazy or fucktarded views. Everyone knows several. A lot of people are one themselves, but might not recognise it. I might be one, but the nature of monomoronicism means that I could never tell unless it was pointed out to me. I would hope, however, that I would at least be able to self-rectify such an irrationality.

A Good Book That You Should Read

It's called Foundation.

It's science fiction, but stay with me here. Now I am well aware that science fiction isn't everyone's cup of tea. I mean, when you think of science fiction you probably think Star Trek and similar. Hell, I don't much like Star Trek. But Foundation is a classic to rival any book you care to mention, scifi or not.

It's set approximately 23,000 years in the future, so far ahead that civilisation has forgotten which world was the original cradle of humanity. Humans have colonised millions of star systems across the entire galaxy.

There are no aliens in Foundation. The story is set in the future, but it doesn't focus on the fact that it is the future. There are references to technology, but the technology rarely if ever actually plays a key part in the stories. The science fiction setting is basically just a way for the author to tell any story he likes, which is why it might appeal to a reader with little to no interest in science fiction.

It starts off on the capital world of the Galactic Empire in the last years before visible cracks start to show themselves in society. Although all appears well on the surface, the Empire and galaxy have in fact been in subtle decline for centuries. Scientific research has effectively ground to a halt across the galaxy and corruption is rife.

A group of about a hundred thousand people have been developing a science known as "Psychohistory" which basically combines psychology and mathematics to predict how large groups of humans are likely to behave. Under the leadership of genius Hari Seldon, they are able to plot the course of history and see that Trantor, the Galactic Capital, will lie in ruins within five hundred years.

The psychohistorians' findings are controversial, and they manage to engineer the Empire into exiling 70,000 of them to a remote world called Terminus, where they will compile an Encyclopaedia to preserve knowledge through the coming dark ages. The organisation is named the "Encyclopaedia Foundation number one" (later shortened to just "The Foundation"). The overarching aim is that the Foundation will be subtly guided through a series of crises over 1000 years, eventually emerging as the seed for a second, greater, more compassionate and more powerful Galactic Empire.

The story is told through a series of short stories, spanning 200 years, from the beginning of the end for the Empire, through to the emergence of The Foundation as a major galactic power, ending just over a generation before the first conflict between The Foundation and the remnants of the Empire.

Read it. You won't regret it, whether you normally like science fiction or not. Foundation is one of the literary greats and has played a crucial role in influencing our culture. Star Wars and many other influential cultural works were directly inspired by Foundation.