This is pretty sweet: http://arxiv.org/abs/hep-ph/0503178
Abstract:
We consider black hole production at the CERN Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in a generic scenario with many extra dimensions where the standard model fields are confined to a brane. With ~20 dimensions the hierarchy problem is shown to be naturally solved without the need for large compactification radii. We find that in such a scenario the properties of black holes can be used to determine the number of extra dimensions, n. In particular, we demonstrate that measurements of the decay distributions of such black holes at the LHC can determine if n is significantly larger than 6 or 7 with high confidence and thus can probe one of the critical properties of string theory compactifications.
Score 1 for science! While this doesn't provide a way to prove string theory, it does provide a way to prove if it is wrong altogether. Assuming the LHC can ram those protons together fast enough to produce the mini black holes we need.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Submitted for your approval...
The Adventures of Sir Spellsitrong and the Nites of the Sound Taybul
Installment #1 -- Funetics, by Doctor Elron Dullard
Sir Spellsitrong finally arrived at a meeting with the other Nites. He was over thirty minutes late, because he got lost in Corridor 3. Oh yes, THAT Corridor 3. The infamous Corridor 3. The corridor few dare to enter and fewer still escape unscathed, but I will not elaborate further. It is all too frightening, and my bowels are empty enough as it is. Suffice it to say, it requires a great deal of courage or stupidity to enter Corridor 3, and Sir Spellsitrong has an unhealthy dose of both.
As Spellsitrong walked into the Sound Taybul room, he saw the other Nites impatiently awaiting his arrival. There was a projection up on the wall that looked suspiciously like a piece of somebody's anatomy, which caused Sir Laffsalot to giggle uncontrollably.
"Where the hell have you been?!" bellowed King Author.
"I'm terribly sorry, King Author, I got lost down Corridor 3 and had to endure all sorts of horrible things!."
At the mention of "Corridor 3" an eerie hush fell over the other Nites. All except for Sir Laffsalot, who sniggered under his breath.
King Author raised one eye-brow in either disbelief or awe. Deciding that Sir Spellsitrong was telling the truth, however, he allowed the other eye-brow to join the first midway between his tired eyes and receding hairline--suggesting a certain level of permissiveness for the wayward Nite--and responded, "Well, see that it doesn't happen again. I have a kingdom to run, and I can't very well have my Secretary Nite gallivanting about with all manner of frightening things while the rest of us wait about for him."
"I'm sorry sir, you are correct. I shall be more careful next time."
"Thank you. Now I have called you all here for a reason. It seems a new threat has risen from the north. A giant by the name of Oxford has come to challenge us based on abuse of the English language. He has demanded that we send forth our bravest Nite to fight him--in a Spelling Bee TO THE DEATH!" The king paused for dramatic effect. He had spent all morning practicing this speech in front of his bathroom mirror, and was quite pleased with his delivery. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Now, I have already attempted to contact Webster, but it appears the former gubernat-..."
"Bwahahahahahaha! He said goober!" interjected Sir Laffsalot. Everyone else remained silent. The laughter subsided, and King Author continued:
"As I was saying, the former Californian gubernatorial candidate can't get any time off right now, and is unable to assist us."
"Umm, Webster was played by Emmanuel Lewis, not Gary Coleman," interjected Sir Joeyscameo.
"Shut up," retorted King Author. These interruptions were starting to frustrate him. "Anyway, I also checked with David, as he seems to have some experience with giants, but God said he needs him right now, and there is no arguing with that guy. So, it comes down to this: One of us must go to face this giant. The future of our kingdom depends on it. Now, I would go myself, but I am kind of a coward. I mean, I got this job by stealing a sword from some chick in a lake. How much guts does that take? So, I decided I would be better off staying here to protect my faithful Lady Guinivere." This brought another snigger out of Laffsalot. "She sure was 'keeping the faith' last night, if you catch my drift," he said, while elbowing his neighbor knowingly. Sir Dozentgetit, the victim of the vicious elbowing, just shook his head and furrowed his brow in confusion.
Laffsalot's attention was pulled back to the meeting as he heard Spellsitrong call out boisterously, "I will volunteer my services! I will slay this giant! As secretary of the land, it is my honor, duty, and privilege!"
At this, everybody in the room started laughing. Tears were flowing, sides were splitting. Only Sir Laffsalot said, "That's not funny," with a somber look on his face.
King Author answered, "Sir Spellsitrong, I appreciate your enthusiasm, however I would not consider you the ideal candidate for this job. Your spelling is atrocious. In fact, the only reason that we fired that Merlin guy and made you secretary was to try to get you to practice. Well, that and I'm pretty sure that no-good wizard was stealing office supplies. Anyway, we thought that if you had to write things down all the time, then you might improve your skills a little bit. In fact, it's had quite the opposite effect. Your spelling is actually worse and we now have several years' worth of worthless notes and minutes from our meetings. I'd be surprised if any records survive more than a couple generations. People will end up making hackneyed action flicks and cheesy under-funded comedies, because all they'll know about us is the unintelligible drivel you call writing. I am sorry, but I do no think you should go."
"Please, your lordship, let me do this! I have been studying really hard! I took a "Hooked on Phonics" course, and am getting much better!"
"Well, seeing as how we have no other volunteers, I don't have much choice. The safety of the kingdom is in your hands. Do not fail us. You will have to journey to the hallowed spelling grounds. You shall leave in the morning with an array of my fastest horses and an entourage worthy of the greatest pop-stars."
Sir Spellsitrong bowed graciously and left the room. Like the man who choked to death on a banana, he had bitten off far more than he could chew. He walked away down the hall, and slowly resigned himself to his impending doom. The journey to the hallowed spelling grounds would take about three days. By the time he reached his chambers, his fretting had nearly worn a tooth-shaped hole through his lower lip. The sun had just barely set, casting an orange glow across the horizon, but he couldn't bear staying awake with only his thoughts as company, so he settled in for an uneasy night's sleep.
The morning came far too early for his taste. He got ready with the help of his chamberboy, and stumbled through the next three days in the mental haze of a death row inmate walking the green mile. Upon arrival to the hallowed Spelling Grounds on the morning of the third day, he was ready to accept his fate. Seeing the ground where so many others had died before him gave him a sort of clarity no mind altering drug could provide. He realized that no matter the outcome, he was serving a higher purpose. He went to his seat at the front of the grounds, and waited for the giant to arrive.
Shortly before noon, the giant was visible over the horizon. First his head popped up, then shoulders. By the time his waist appeared, his head had eclipsed the sun, casting an unnatural shadow across the assembly. Simultaneously, the entire crowd gasped as his full 75 foot stature was revealed to them. One guy swallowed a bug as he breathed in. This caused him to cough uncontrollably, sending forth an army of microscopic bacteria into battle. As if of one mind, the infinitesimal phalanx forged forward to the giant's vacuous proboscis. Finding the fortress virtually undefended, they set to work, festering in the sinuses of the unfortunate fiend.
Before we continue, I must explain how a spelling bee to the death works. One contestant provides a word for the other to spell. The second contestant then attempts to spell that word. If he fails to spell it correctly, the first contestant imparts one blow to the other contestant--anywhere on his body, with any weapon of his choosing. If, however, he does spell it correctly, then he in turn gets to provide a word for the first contestant to spell. Play continues in this manner until, via the wounds provided, one of the contestants dies. The punishment for those who choose to violate these rules is, of course, death. Given that the battle is between a massive giant and a puny human, I'll leave it to you do deduce how many mistakes each one gets to make before the match is over. This may seem unfair, but most battles are in fact fought this way. Nobody picks a fight unless they think they can win, and, understandably, most giants think they can win.
Sir Spellsitrong walked to the center of the Spelling Grounds next to the giant. Well, more specifically, the giant's baby toe. The Grounds is better described as a garden, really, so there wasn't room for the whole giant. This proved very unfortunate for the poor souls sitting at the far end of the field who found themselves crushed beneath his massive callous-encrusted heel. But, fortunately, romantic literature such as this cares little for the affairs of poor people, which spares me the uncomfortable task of describing the rather gruesome injuries they sustained and the tearful wailing of the loved ones left behind. Let's just say that this particular flood was the stuff legends are made of.
With both contestants in place, the Master of Ceremonies, a swarthy young man with a fair and empty head, waited for the fanfare of trumpets to subside before announcing, "Gentlemen! Start your engines!" An awkward silence followed as he realized that he grabbed the wrong cue cards on his way out the door that morning. A nervous bead of sweat glistened on his proud neatly trimmed moustache. Regaining his composure, he said, "Uhh. Do the spelling thing. Oxford the Giant, you are first. Proceed."
By this time, the germs in the giant's sinus cavities had grown to an alarming number. They stirred their witch's brew of mucus as the giant prepared to give his word for Sir Spellsitrong. The breath inward before opening his mouth to speak so tickled his nostrils that the giant let forth a cacophonous sneeze: "AAAAHHHCHOOOO!!!!!!" The wind and phlegm spewed forth, giving the women in the audience a series of elaborate up-dos, each more startling than the next.
Sir Spellsitrong spoke with the characteristic foolishness and confidence that belied his shattered nerves. "Ahchoo. Ay, Aych, See, Aych, Oh, Oh. Ahchoo."
The emcee announced, "Please wait while our judges deliberate this response." Tense seconds passed. He finally received the decision and said, "Since 'Ahchoo' is not technically a word in the English language, any purely phonetic spelling would be acceptable. The decision is in favor of Spellsitrong. Continue with your word for Mr. Giant, if you please."
"Hooked on Phonics werked for me," Spellsitrong thought somewhat ironically. A moment later, he decided upon his word. "Convenient."
The giant was now visibly ill. His nose was red and swollen. His eyes watered incessantly. His head was swimming and he could no longer think straight. His voice as nasal as a Frenchman's, he began, "Com-been-yen. See, Oh..." And suddenly, with less warning than before, an even larger sneeze resounded from within the deep recesses of his head. The wind was so strong that chickens turned into projectiles. The sound was so loud that four old ladies in Connecticut stopped playing bridge just long enough to ask, "What on Earth was that?" The mucus, green and viscous, was so plentiful that it drowned a kitten. (Don't worry too much about this last part, though. The kitten was very racist. As cute as it was, it likely would have been the first cat to commit large-scale genocide. Thank goodness for small miracles, eh?) The sneeze sufficiently rattled the giant's head that he lost track of where he was in the word, and he continued with a disastrous "Vee, Ee, En, Tee. Com-been-yen."
The emcee replied, "I'm sorry, that is incorrect. Spellsitrong, you may inflict a blow as you wish upon the giant, after which you may provide another word for him to spell."
Spellsitrong nodded in understanding. He removed his sword from its sheath and ran headlong toward the giant's foot, ululating the entire way. His sword pierced the giant's calloused toe, reaching the soft tissue underneath. The giant grunted loudly in discomfort, leaving him predictably disgruntled.
His jagged nerves catching up to his confident facade, Spellsitrong shouted his next word with a genuinely happy lilt in his voice. "Predictable!"
This time, the giant barely had time for the word to register before he let out his biggest and final sneeze--the force of which was so great that his head burst open. His hair floated into the sky to make the clouds. His eyes rose to become the stars. His tortured nose landed in the north of India to become the craggy peaks of the Himilayas. As the crumpled remains of the giant collapsed to the ground, so did Spellsitrong's jaw. He was in shock. He had beaten the brute. Sure, it wasn't by any particular strength in his spelling, but he won nonetheless. A satisfied grin spread across the face of the erstwhile champion. It was the smile of Lady Luck, who, for unknown reasons, saw fit to shine her light on this most incompetent of fools. Though they may kill us for their sport, the gods may also extend the game from time to time--even if for only one period more.
Installment #1 -- Funetics, by Doctor Elron Dullard
Sir Spellsitrong finally arrived at a meeting with the other Nites. He was over thirty minutes late, because he got lost in Corridor 3. Oh yes, THAT Corridor 3. The infamous Corridor 3. The corridor few dare to enter and fewer still escape unscathed, but I will not elaborate further. It is all too frightening, and my bowels are empty enough as it is. Suffice it to say, it requires a great deal of courage or stupidity to enter Corridor 3, and Sir Spellsitrong has an unhealthy dose of both.
As Spellsitrong walked into the Sound Taybul room, he saw the other Nites impatiently awaiting his arrival. There was a projection up on the wall that looked suspiciously like a piece of somebody's anatomy, which caused Sir Laffsalot to giggle uncontrollably.
"Where the hell have you been?!" bellowed King Author.
"I'm terribly sorry, King Author, I got lost down Corridor 3 and had to endure all sorts of horrible things!."
At the mention of "Corridor 3" an eerie hush fell over the other Nites. All except for Sir Laffsalot, who sniggered under his breath.
King Author raised one eye-brow in either disbelief or awe. Deciding that Sir Spellsitrong was telling the truth, however, he allowed the other eye-brow to join the first midway between his tired eyes and receding hairline--suggesting a certain level of permissiveness for the wayward Nite--and responded, "Well, see that it doesn't happen again. I have a kingdom to run, and I can't very well have my Secretary Nite gallivanting about with all manner of frightening things while the rest of us wait about for him."
"I'm sorry sir, you are correct. I shall be more careful next time."
"Thank you. Now I have called you all here for a reason. It seems a new threat has risen from the north. A giant by the name of Oxford has come to challenge us based on abuse of the English language. He has demanded that we send forth our bravest Nite to fight him--in a Spelling Bee TO THE DEATH!" The king paused for dramatic effect. He had spent all morning practicing this speech in front of his bathroom mirror, and was quite pleased with his delivery. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Now, I have already attempted to contact Webster, but it appears the former gubernat-..."
"Bwahahahahahaha! He said goober!" interjected Sir Laffsalot. Everyone else remained silent. The laughter subsided, and King Author continued:
"As I was saying, the former Californian gubernatorial candidate can't get any time off right now, and is unable to assist us."
"Umm, Webster was played by Emmanuel Lewis, not Gary Coleman," interjected Sir Joeyscameo.
"Shut up," retorted King Author. These interruptions were starting to frustrate him. "Anyway, I also checked with David, as he seems to have some experience with giants, but God said he needs him right now, and there is no arguing with that guy. So, it comes down to this: One of us must go to face this giant. The future of our kingdom depends on it. Now, I would go myself, but I am kind of a coward. I mean, I got this job by stealing a sword from some chick in a lake. How much guts does that take? So, I decided I would be better off staying here to protect my faithful Lady Guinivere." This brought another snigger out of Laffsalot. "She sure was 'keeping the faith' last night, if you catch my drift," he said, while elbowing his neighbor knowingly. Sir Dozentgetit, the victim of the vicious elbowing, just shook his head and furrowed his brow in confusion.
Laffsalot's attention was pulled back to the meeting as he heard Spellsitrong call out boisterously, "I will volunteer my services! I will slay this giant! As secretary of the land, it is my honor, duty, and privilege!"
At this, everybody in the room started laughing. Tears were flowing, sides were splitting. Only Sir Laffsalot said, "That's not funny," with a somber look on his face.
King Author answered, "Sir Spellsitrong, I appreciate your enthusiasm, however I would not consider you the ideal candidate for this job. Your spelling is atrocious. In fact, the only reason that we fired that Merlin guy and made you secretary was to try to get you to practice. Well, that and I'm pretty sure that no-good wizard was stealing office supplies. Anyway, we thought that if you had to write things down all the time, then you might improve your skills a little bit. In fact, it's had quite the opposite effect. Your spelling is actually worse and we now have several years' worth of worthless notes and minutes from our meetings. I'd be surprised if any records survive more than a couple generations. People will end up making hackneyed action flicks and cheesy under-funded comedies, because all they'll know about us is the unintelligible drivel you call writing. I am sorry, but I do no think you should go."
"Please, your lordship, let me do this! I have been studying really hard! I took a "Hooked on Phonics" course, and am getting much better!"
"Well, seeing as how we have no other volunteers, I don't have much choice. The safety of the kingdom is in your hands. Do not fail us. You will have to journey to the hallowed spelling grounds. You shall leave in the morning with an array of my fastest horses and an entourage worthy of the greatest pop-stars."
Sir Spellsitrong bowed graciously and left the room. Like the man who choked to death on a banana, he had bitten off far more than he could chew. He walked away down the hall, and slowly resigned himself to his impending doom. The journey to the hallowed spelling grounds would take about three days. By the time he reached his chambers, his fretting had nearly worn a tooth-shaped hole through his lower lip. The sun had just barely set, casting an orange glow across the horizon, but he couldn't bear staying awake with only his thoughts as company, so he settled in for an uneasy night's sleep.
The morning came far too early for his taste. He got ready with the help of his chamberboy, and stumbled through the next three days in the mental haze of a death row inmate walking the green mile. Upon arrival to the hallowed Spelling Grounds on the morning of the third day, he was ready to accept his fate. Seeing the ground where so many others had died before him gave him a sort of clarity no mind altering drug could provide. He realized that no matter the outcome, he was serving a higher purpose. He went to his seat at the front of the grounds, and waited for the giant to arrive.
Shortly before noon, the giant was visible over the horizon. First his head popped up, then shoulders. By the time his waist appeared, his head had eclipsed the sun, casting an unnatural shadow across the assembly. Simultaneously, the entire crowd gasped as his full 75 foot stature was revealed to them. One guy swallowed a bug as he breathed in. This caused him to cough uncontrollably, sending forth an army of microscopic bacteria into battle. As if of one mind, the infinitesimal phalanx forged forward to the giant's vacuous proboscis. Finding the fortress virtually undefended, they set to work, festering in the sinuses of the unfortunate fiend.
Before we continue, I must explain how a spelling bee to the death works. One contestant provides a word for the other to spell. The second contestant then attempts to spell that word. If he fails to spell it correctly, the first contestant imparts one blow to the other contestant--anywhere on his body, with any weapon of his choosing. If, however, he does spell it correctly, then he in turn gets to provide a word for the first contestant to spell. Play continues in this manner until, via the wounds provided, one of the contestants dies. The punishment for those who choose to violate these rules is, of course, death. Given that the battle is between a massive giant and a puny human, I'll leave it to you do deduce how many mistakes each one gets to make before the match is over. This may seem unfair, but most battles are in fact fought this way. Nobody picks a fight unless they think they can win, and, understandably, most giants think they can win.
Sir Spellsitrong walked to the center of the Spelling Grounds next to the giant. Well, more specifically, the giant's baby toe. The Grounds is better described as a garden, really, so there wasn't room for the whole giant. This proved very unfortunate for the poor souls sitting at the far end of the field who found themselves crushed beneath his massive callous-encrusted heel. But, fortunately, romantic literature such as this cares little for the affairs of poor people, which spares me the uncomfortable task of describing the rather gruesome injuries they sustained and the tearful wailing of the loved ones left behind. Let's just say that this particular flood was the stuff legends are made of.
With both contestants in place, the Master of Ceremonies, a swarthy young man with a fair and empty head, waited for the fanfare of trumpets to subside before announcing, "Gentlemen! Start your engines!" An awkward silence followed as he realized that he grabbed the wrong cue cards on his way out the door that morning. A nervous bead of sweat glistened on his proud neatly trimmed moustache. Regaining his composure, he said, "Uhh. Do the spelling thing. Oxford the Giant, you are first. Proceed."
By this time, the germs in the giant's sinus cavities had grown to an alarming number. They stirred their witch's brew of mucus as the giant prepared to give his word for Sir Spellsitrong. The breath inward before opening his mouth to speak so tickled his nostrils that the giant let forth a cacophonous sneeze: "AAAAHHHCHOOOO!!!!!!" The wind and phlegm spewed forth, giving the women in the audience a series of elaborate up-dos, each more startling than the next.
Sir Spellsitrong spoke with the characteristic foolishness and confidence that belied his shattered nerves. "Ahchoo. Ay, Aych, See, Aych, Oh, Oh. Ahchoo."
The emcee announced, "Please wait while our judges deliberate this response." Tense seconds passed. He finally received the decision and said, "Since 'Ahchoo' is not technically a word in the English language, any purely phonetic spelling would be acceptable. The decision is in favor of Spellsitrong. Continue with your word for Mr. Giant, if you please."
"Hooked on Phonics werked for me," Spellsitrong thought somewhat ironically. A moment later, he decided upon his word. "Convenient."
The giant was now visibly ill. His nose was red and swollen. His eyes watered incessantly. His head was swimming and he could no longer think straight. His voice as nasal as a Frenchman's, he began, "Com-been-yen. See, Oh..." And suddenly, with less warning than before, an even larger sneeze resounded from within the deep recesses of his head. The wind was so strong that chickens turned into projectiles. The sound was so loud that four old ladies in Connecticut stopped playing bridge just long enough to ask, "What on Earth was that?" The mucus, green and viscous, was so plentiful that it drowned a kitten. (Don't worry too much about this last part, though. The kitten was very racist. As cute as it was, it likely would have been the first cat to commit large-scale genocide. Thank goodness for small miracles, eh?) The sneeze sufficiently rattled the giant's head that he lost track of where he was in the word, and he continued with a disastrous "Vee, Ee, En, Tee. Com-been-yen."
The emcee replied, "I'm sorry, that is incorrect. Spellsitrong, you may inflict a blow as you wish upon the giant, after which you may provide another word for him to spell."
Spellsitrong nodded in understanding. He removed his sword from its sheath and ran headlong toward the giant's foot, ululating the entire way. His sword pierced the giant's calloused toe, reaching the soft tissue underneath. The giant grunted loudly in discomfort, leaving him predictably disgruntled.
His jagged nerves catching up to his confident facade, Spellsitrong shouted his next word with a genuinely happy lilt in his voice. "Predictable!"
This time, the giant barely had time for the word to register before he let out his biggest and final sneeze--the force of which was so great that his head burst open. His hair floated into the sky to make the clouds. His eyes rose to become the stars. His tortured nose landed in the north of India to become the craggy peaks of the Himilayas. As the crumpled remains of the giant collapsed to the ground, so did Spellsitrong's jaw. He was in shock. He had beaten the brute. Sure, it wasn't by any particular strength in his spelling, but he won nonetheless. A satisfied grin spread across the face of the erstwhile champion. It was the smile of Lady Luck, who, for unknown reasons, saw fit to shine her light on this most incompetent of fools. Though they may kill us for their sport, the gods may also extend the game from time to time--even if for only one period more.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Monday, May 02, 2005
Capitalism or Why the "Shift" Key Doesn't Matter
Making money is easy. All that is required is to convince other people to give you their money. If you want to be rich, you must figure out how to do this effectively. All ethical considerations aside (since this is capitalism, ethics must needs take a back seat to the power of the Almighty Dollar), your fundamental choice is to convince the other by persuasion or force. We will leave force aside, since this only applies to governments or criminals (NOTE: that is not an exclusive or. i.e., both can be true).
Methods of Persuasion:
1) The L. Ron Hubbard -- "God wants you to give me money."
Primarily the prerogative of organized religions, the argument works something like this:
a) You believe in God
b) I can convince others to believe in God.
c) Give me money so I can convince others to believe in God (and give me more money)
Note that this is no particular god, any god will do. Feel free to use a sufficiently mysterious concept like Dianetics or Medichlorians to substitute for a deity, if you wish.
2) The Sally Struthers Method -- "Give me money because of this thing that is cute, sad or sick."
The technique pulls at your heartstrings and may succeed in opening a wallet where many other attempts would fail. People feel ashamed for their own good fortune and will gladly assuage their guilt by giving some of that to the less fortunate--regardless of whether or not the afflicted will receive any benefit from the donation. We're only talking about warm-fuzzies here. No need for any actual good to be done.
3) Backsies -- "If you give me money, someone else will give you money."
This one is closely tied to the Sally Struthers Method. If the heart strings don't pull tight enough, the power of the phrase "tax write-off" may ring louder in their ears. "Warm Fuzzy" + "Screw You, Uncle Sam" = *ching ching*
A common variation is The Pyramid Scheme.
4) The Annie Oakley -- "Anything you can do, I can do better."
This method entails providing a service that the person could otherwise do themselves, if they weren't so lazy or irresponsible. i.e.,
"Give me money to change your oil."
"Can't I change my own oil?"
"It's easier if you just give me money."
5) The Madonna -- "I'm living in a material world, and I am a material girl."
People always want stuff. People are always willing to pay you for stuff. If they don't need the stuff you're selling, convince them otherwise.
6) The Veruca Salt -- "I want it now."
This one is very clever. Relying on the impulsive behavior of most people, give them money now in exchange for them giving you more money in return later. You essentially sell money. Not bad work, if you can get it.
"I want a $100."
"Okay, that will cost you $150."
"Sounds good to me!"
Bonus points are given to store credit cards, since they provide the double whammy of The Madonna and The Veruca Salt.
You can combine variations of these to get new and novel concepts like "The Gift That Keeps on Giving." Combine any combination of The Madonna and The Annie Oakley and you have a surefire way to make money by getting people to give you money for something that costs them money to keep. Two Madonnas gives you the Gilette method--sell a razor for a small amount of money. Charge a lot for the blades. To make the initial purchase of the razor "worth it," people are willing to buy a lot of blades. TiVo uses a Madonna and an Annie Oakley to get their revenue--buy the box, then pay the subscription fee unless you want a very expensive paper weight. And of course all of these can be combined with a Veruca Salt to make more money still! Your earning potential is only limited by your creativity. And remember, at the poker table of life, if you can't spot the sucker in 5 minutes, you're the sucker.
If you liked today's content, feel free to send me money.
Methods of Persuasion:
1) The L. Ron Hubbard -- "God wants you to give me money."
Primarily the prerogative of organized religions, the argument works something like this:
a) You believe in God
b) I can convince others to believe in God.
c) Give me money so I can convince others to believe in God (and give me more money)
Note that this is no particular god, any god will do. Feel free to use a sufficiently mysterious concept like Dianetics or Medichlorians to substitute for a deity, if you wish.
2) The Sally Struthers Method -- "Give me money because of this thing that is cute, sad or sick."
The technique pulls at your heartstrings and may succeed in opening a wallet where many other attempts would fail. People feel ashamed for their own good fortune and will gladly assuage their guilt by giving some of that to the less fortunate--regardless of whether or not the afflicted will receive any benefit from the donation. We're only talking about warm-fuzzies here. No need for any actual good to be done.
3) Backsies -- "If you give me money, someone else will give you money."
This one is closely tied to the Sally Struthers Method. If the heart strings don't pull tight enough, the power of the phrase "tax write-off" may ring louder in their ears. "Warm Fuzzy" + "Screw You, Uncle Sam" = *ching ching*
A common variation is The Pyramid Scheme.
4) The Annie Oakley -- "Anything you can do, I can do better."
This method entails providing a service that the person could otherwise do themselves, if they weren't so lazy or irresponsible. i.e.,
"Give me money to change your oil."
"Can't I change my own oil?"
"It's easier if you just give me money."
5) The Madonna -- "I'm living in a material world, and I am a material girl."
People always want stuff. People are always willing to pay you for stuff. If they don't need the stuff you're selling, convince them otherwise.
6) The Veruca Salt -- "I want it now."
This one is very clever. Relying on the impulsive behavior of most people, give them money now in exchange for them giving you more money in return later. You essentially sell money. Not bad work, if you can get it.
"I want a $100."
"Okay, that will cost you $150."
"Sounds good to me!"
Bonus points are given to store credit cards, since they provide the double whammy of The Madonna and The Veruca Salt.
You can combine variations of these to get new and novel concepts like "The Gift That Keeps on Giving." Combine any combination of The Madonna and The Annie Oakley and you have a surefire way to make money by getting people to give you money for something that costs them money to keep. Two Madonnas gives you the Gilette method--sell a razor for a small amount of money. Charge a lot for the blades. To make the initial purchase of the razor "worth it," people are willing to buy a lot of blades. TiVo uses a Madonna and an Annie Oakley to get their revenue--buy the box, then pay the subscription fee unless you want a very expensive paper weight. And of course all of these can be combined with a Veruca Salt to make more money still! Your earning potential is only limited by your creativity. And remember, at the poker table of life, if you can't spot the sucker in 5 minutes, you're the sucker.
If you liked today's content, feel free to send me money.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Joey's Dream
This is in response to Joey's dream, as posted on his blog:
Okay. The important thing to remember is that the T-Rex was dead to begin with. Remember this, or nothing that follows will seem strange and wonderous. Come with me as we see how far down the rabbit hole goes. At first, I believed these to be three unrelated dreams, until I reached point "4". It is in this seemingly innocuous soporific statement that the truth is revealed. This was a cry for help waiting for the right person to hear. You may not have thought it would do any good, but you couldn't have been more wrong.
The key is to take all three dreams as part of a larger whole. The essence of each section is:
1) Jurassic Park
2) ASU
3) Harvey Korman
Go to Google and enter the following in the search box and click "I'm Feeling Lucky.":
"Harvey Korman" "Jurassic Park" ASU
It will take you to this site:
http://www.public.asu.edu/~msitome/top50movies.htm
On this page, you will find two Harvey Korman movies as well as Jurassic Park. The numbers on the list are 37, 32, and 21. 37 - 21 = 16 = 32 / 2. Adding together the digits we have:
3 + 7 = 10
3 + 2 = 5
2 + 1 = 3
Each sum is the previous number divided by 2, rounded to the nearest integer. 2 is clearly the magic number. Continuing the pattern, the next sum should be 2, meaning we are supposed to look at movie 11 or movie 2. Pulp Fiction or Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.
Samuel L. Jackson was in both Jurassic Park and Pulp Fiction. This leaves us with two Harvey Korman movies and two Samuel L. Jackson movies. The question now becomes, what is Samuel L. Jackson trying to warn us about?
In Jackie Brown, SLJ says a line "Now, you should listen to this, 'cause it concerns you." He also had a small role in Kill Bill 2, and in this movie, the character Elle
Driver says the exact same line. In context, she is talking about the lethality of the bite of a black mamba. The full quote can be found here:
http://imdb.com/title/tt0378194/quotes
Now it is clear. The overall theme of your dream was lizards, tying back into the fear of the dinosaur in the first dream. From here (http://www.hyperdictionary.com/dictionary/lizard) we get a definition of what a dream about lizards means, which in the context of what you have posted recently, seems apropos. Now, you should listen to this, 'cause it concerns you.
"Seeing a lizard in your dream means your primal instincts and reactions toward sex, food, etc. and your anxieties toward these feelings. The lizard can also be representative of a person who you view as cold-blooded, fearful, or thick-skinned. On a more positive note, the lizard also symbolizes emerging creativity, renewal, and revitalization. It may also suggest that you are well-grounded."
Anxiety towards food: Meg being eaten by a dinosaur
Cold-blooded person & primal instincts toward sex: your fear of becoming that Cold-Hearted Snake in the situation described in your second dream.
Emerging creativity, renewal, revitalization: Your admiration for Harvey Korman's past work, and as he mentioned that his career is essentially over, so will yours rise from the ashes. Your recent good fortune in both your performance work and sound design puts you on the cusp of realizing your creative dreams.
If this seems far-fetched, you should try reading The DaVinci Code.
Okay. The important thing to remember is that the T-Rex was dead to begin with. Remember this, or nothing that follows will seem strange and wonderous. Come with me as we see how far down the rabbit hole goes. At first, I believed these to be three unrelated dreams, until I reached point "4". It is in this seemingly innocuous soporific statement that the truth is revealed. This was a cry for help waiting for the right person to hear. You may not have thought it would do any good, but you couldn't have been more wrong.
The key is to take all three dreams as part of a larger whole. The essence of each section is:
1) Jurassic Park
2) ASU
3) Harvey Korman
Go to Google and enter the following in the search box and click "I'm Feeling Lucky.":
"Harvey Korman" "Jurassic Park" ASU
It will take you to this site:
http://www.public.asu.edu/~msitome/top50movies.htm
On this page, you will find two Harvey Korman movies as well as Jurassic Park. The numbers on the list are 37, 32, and 21. 37 - 21 = 16 = 32 / 2. Adding together the digits we have:
3 + 7 = 10
3 + 2 = 5
2 + 1 = 3
Each sum is the previous number divided by 2, rounded to the nearest integer. 2 is clearly the magic number. Continuing the pattern, the next sum should be 2, meaning we are supposed to look at movie 11 or movie 2. Pulp Fiction or Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.
Samuel L. Jackson was in both Jurassic Park and Pulp Fiction. This leaves us with two Harvey Korman movies and two Samuel L. Jackson movies. The question now becomes, what is Samuel L. Jackson trying to warn us about?
In Jackie Brown, SLJ says a line "Now, you should listen to this, 'cause it concerns you." He also had a small role in Kill Bill 2, and in this movie, the character Elle
Driver says the exact same line. In context, she is talking about the lethality of the bite of a black mamba. The full quote can be found here:
http://imdb.com/title/tt0378194/quotes
Now it is clear. The overall theme of your dream was lizards, tying back into the fear of the dinosaur in the first dream. From here (http://www.hyperdictionary.com/dictionary/lizard) we get a definition of what a dream about lizards means, which in the context of what you have posted recently, seems apropos. Now, you should listen to this, 'cause it concerns you.
"Seeing a lizard in your dream means your primal instincts and reactions toward sex, food, etc. and your anxieties toward these feelings. The lizard can also be representative of a person who you view as cold-blooded, fearful, or thick-skinned. On a more positive note, the lizard also symbolizes emerging creativity, renewal, and revitalization. It may also suggest that you are well-grounded."
Anxiety towards food: Meg being eaten by a dinosaur
Cold-blooded person & primal instincts toward sex: your fear of becoming that Cold-Hearted Snake in the situation described in your second dream.
Emerging creativity, renewal, revitalization: Your admiration for Harvey Korman's past work, and as he mentioned that his career is essentially over, so will yours rise from the ashes. Your recent good fortune in both your performance work and sound design puts you on the cusp of realizing your creative dreams.
If this seems far-fetched, you should try reading The DaVinci Code.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Correlation and Causation
Let me preface this anecdote with a brief description of the difference between correlation and causation. I'm sure most of you know that just because two events are correlated that it does not mean that one caused the other. For example, even if event A happens around the same time as B, A might not cause B. A third event, C, could have caused both A and B. If this is too abstract, just ponder this little fact: the US has never lost a war in which donkeys were used. Now should we trade in all of our M1 Abrams for Eeyore in a flak jacket? Remember this, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous and amazing--or make any sense. Anyway, on to the story...
Although it may seem surprising, I was very serious as a child. Very serious, very matter-of-fact; a precocious and therefore obnoxious know-it-all. Moreso than I am now, even. I also had a tendency to not get the joke; or at least I would get the joke but them proceed to tell the questionable comedian where he or she was mistaken. I was a barrel of laughs back then. Case in point, the phrase "it's always in the last place you look." I took this advice solemnly to heart as a great piece of wisdom about how hard it is to find things that you've lost. I never made the logical leap that, by definition, any missing item is in the last place you look because once you find it, you stop looking. I had assumed just correlation, when causation had reared its ugly head. Embarrassingly, since this phrase entered my head as an idiomatic expression long before I could question my analysis, I did not make this connection until very late in life--high school, in fact. One of my fellow thespians made some comment about how much that phrase annoyed her. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why that particular colloquialism would be annoying, when it hit me like a ton of bricks. The world became a little bit bigger for me that day, and the stars just a little bit brighter.
I have had many such "blonde" moments over the past quarter century. Most of them are just as harmless and humerous as this one (or even funnier, if you didn't care for it), but one in particular stands out as having a powerful impact on what is important to me and one of my self-described defining characteristics.
I was once an altarboy at Mountain View Lutheran Church, for those who know it. Save your jokes; I was Lutheran and our clergy were allowed to marry, sparing us from the iniquities of some other unnamed denominations. One Sunday morning, as I was in the narthex in my robe, lighter/snuffer in hand, waiting for my opportunity to shine, an elderly man who was volunteering as an usher struck up a conversation with me. The conversation meandered like good banter does, and shortly before I was to go on, he said to me, "the day you don't learn anything is the day you die." Which brings us back to correlation and causation. There are two events in this statement: learning something (A) and being alive (B, or more specifically, not B, but that's not the question). A is clearly correlated to B. You can not be alive and not learn something, even if it is something mundane and trivial like "it was cloudy today." However, in my earnestness, I took this as more of a commandment: learn or you WILL die. I don't know if this short and inauspicious episode had a direct effect on how important it is to me to always be learning and trying something new, or if it just struck a mental chord with me (good ol' correlation and causation, yet again), but considering this is coming from somebody who can only stand the monotony of exercise by doing math problems in his head, it does at least seem a pretty accurate description.
(Let's see, a 150 lbs. person burns 100 calories per mile so that works out to...hmm...Let's see what that is in calories per step...that means I'm burning calories with X efficiency...cool, one mile down. Oh, and faster than usual...I wonder what my improvement per week is...)
Oops, I mean, the moral of the story is: learn something, or I'll kill you. NOW.
Although it may seem surprising, I was very serious as a child. Very serious, very matter-of-fact; a precocious and therefore obnoxious know-it-all. Moreso than I am now, even. I also had a tendency to not get the joke; or at least I would get the joke but them proceed to tell the questionable comedian where he or she was mistaken. I was a barrel of laughs back then. Case in point, the phrase "it's always in the last place you look." I took this advice solemnly to heart as a great piece of wisdom about how hard it is to find things that you've lost. I never made the logical leap that, by definition, any missing item is in the last place you look because once you find it, you stop looking. I had assumed just correlation, when causation had reared its ugly head. Embarrassingly, since this phrase entered my head as an idiomatic expression long before I could question my analysis, I did not make this connection until very late in life--high school, in fact. One of my fellow thespians made some comment about how much that phrase annoyed her. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why that particular colloquialism would be annoying, when it hit me like a ton of bricks. The world became a little bit bigger for me that day, and the stars just a little bit brighter.
I have had many such "blonde" moments over the past quarter century. Most of them are just as harmless and humerous as this one (or even funnier, if you didn't care for it), but one in particular stands out as having a powerful impact on what is important to me and one of my self-described defining characteristics.
I was once an altarboy at Mountain View Lutheran Church, for those who know it. Save your jokes; I was Lutheran and our clergy were allowed to marry, sparing us from the iniquities of some other unnamed denominations. One Sunday morning, as I was in the narthex in my robe, lighter/snuffer in hand, waiting for my opportunity to shine, an elderly man who was volunteering as an usher struck up a conversation with me. The conversation meandered like good banter does, and shortly before I was to go on, he said to me, "the day you don't learn anything is the day you die." Which brings us back to correlation and causation. There are two events in this statement: learning something (A) and being alive (B, or more specifically, not B, but that's not the question). A is clearly correlated to B. You can not be alive and not learn something, even if it is something mundane and trivial like "it was cloudy today." However, in my earnestness, I took this as more of a commandment: learn or you WILL die. I don't know if this short and inauspicious episode had a direct effect on how important it is to me to always be learning and trying something new, or if it just struck a mental chord with me (good ol' correlation and causation, yet again), but considering this is coming from somebody who can only stand the monotony of exercise by doing math problems in his head, it does at least seem a pretty accurate description.
(Let's see, a 150 lbs. person burns 100 calories per mile so that works out to...hmm...Let's see what that is in calories per step...that means I'm burning calories with X efficiency...cool, one mile down. Oh, and faster than usual...I wonder what my improvement per week is...)
Oops, I mean, the moral of the story is: learn something, or I'll kill you. NOW.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Eminem
As some may know, I've been an Eminem fan for a while now. Misogyny and homophobia aside, he has written and produced some phenominal music--especially on The Eminem Show. He has a new video out, which is just amazing, in my opinion. He has positioned himself remarkably well over the past several years to put himself in a place to influence a lot of people, and he does a great job of using that in this video. I have a lot of respect for this man, and what he does. View. Listen. Discuss.
If interested here is another video I am fond of.
Of course, since this is Eminem, you may not want to play this at the ol' family reunion, or at Bible School. :)
If interested here is another video I am fond of.
Of course, since this is Eminem, you may not want to play this at the ol' family reunion, or at Bible School. :)
Monday, October 25, 2004
I Got a New Car
I bought a new car this weekend -- a 2004 White Honda S2000 with tan interior. I've already managed to put a couple hundred miles on it in two days.
Without further adieu, here are pictures:
pictures have been removed - Feb. '05
Notice the big grin on my face. :)
Without further adieu, here are pictures:
pictures have been removed - Feb. '05
Notice the big grin on my face. :)
Thursday, October 21, 2004
How many people know somebody who turned 24 today?
Answer: all of you :)
And to make this post interesting, here's what happened on my birthday, 45 years ago:
President Dwight D. Eisenhower signs an executive order transferring the brilliant rocket designer Wernher von Braun and his team from the U.S. Army to the newly created National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). Von Braun, the mastermind of the U.S. space program, had developed the lethal V-2 rocket for Nazi Germany during World War II.
I rocket.
And to make this post interesting, here's what happened on my birthday, 45 years ago:
President Dwight D. Eisenhower signs an executive order transferring the brilliant rocket designer Wernher von Braun and his team from the U.S. Army to the newly created National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). Von Braun, the mastermind of the U.S. space program, had developed the lethal V-2 rocket for Nazi Germany during World War II.
I rocket.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
So Long And Thanks For All the Episodes
BBC Radio is reviving a series most of us are too young to have experienced first-hand. They have created 6 new episodes of Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy that will air over the coming weeks. Through the miracle of technology, Douglas Adams will be playing the role of Agrajag, despite the notable handicap of being dead.
Let's all raise a Djinan Tawnic to this sci-fi masterpiece and its talented creator. I will be glued to my (internet) radio after Thursday, when it becomes available for general download. The times listed on the web page are GMT+1, hence I can't listen live. I will be working, but such is life. If I can find a way to save the audio streams, I will do so.
Let's all raise a Djinan Tawnic to this sci-fi masterpiece and its talented creator. I will be glued to my (internet) radio after Thursday, when it becomes available for general download. The times listed on the web page are GMT+1, hence I can't listen live. I will be working, but such is life. If I can find a way to save the audio streams, I will do so.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Back Once Again with the Physical Master
Found out Friday that I passed my qualifier, which means, officially, I have completed all the requirements for my Masters degree. Finally have that milestone under my belt :).
Monday, August 09, 2004
I'm a Creep
I ran across a very well done flash animation set to Radiohead's Creep. I highly recommend viewing.
Peace Out.
EDIT:
Okay, it appears the flash has been taken down (temporarily?) due to possible copyright reasons or what-have-you. Here is the launch page for the site. Check back here as the will possesses you. If it gets put back up, then this will be where it happens first.
Thank you, Brian, for the updated mirror.
Peace Out.
EDIT:
Okay, it appears the flash has been taken down (temporarily?) due to possible copyright reasons or what-have-you. Here is the launch page for the site. Check back here as the will possesses you. If it gets put back up, then this will be where it happens first.
Thank you, Brian, for the updated mirror.
Friday, July 09, 2004
I took Jess's quiz as well.
Here is the quiz I got from Jess's Blog 53/100 ain't too shabby...
IMDB's Top 100 Best Movies of All Time | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Thursday, June 24, 2004
I have returned
I have returned from Hawaii, and in the same vein, I have returned to blogging. I have abandoned it for far too long and it's time to write more again. With school now safely out of the way I will have fewer distractions pulling me from my more creative pursuits. I know actions speak louder than words, but in this case the actions are words.
JoAnn ran her first marathon this past Sunday in Kona, Hawaii, and she finished in 5 hours, 24 minutes. Not too shabby for a first shot, eh?
Jo and I also got engaged while in the tropics. We have not set a date. We will likely begin the planning process next year. I have my quals this fall, and we will be house hunting later this year and we don't want to have to deal with wedding planning on top of that. I will keep all of you apprised of important updates, of course.
For pictures and whatnot, check out JoAnn's website and click on "Pictures." It has a link to some photo galleries. Hawaii pics aren't up yet, but will be tonight or tomorrow night.
JoAnn ran her first marathon this past Sunday in Kona, Hawaii, and she finished in 5 hours, 24 minutes. Not too shabby for a first shot, eh?
Jo and I also got engaged while in the tropics. We have not set a date. We will likely begin the planning process next year. I have my quals this fall, and we will be house hunting later this year and we don't want to have to deal with wedding planning on top of that. I will keep all of you apprised of important updates, of course.
For pictures and whatnot, check out JoAnn's website and click on "Pictures." It has a link to some photo galleries. Hawaii pics aren't up yet, but will be tonight or tomorrow night.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Blog Resuscitation
There are only three things needed to accomplish anything in life: resources, motivation, and time. I have been short on all three, hence the neglect of my blog. I am slowly nursing it back to health, and hope to have a couple of short stories posted in the near future.
Thank you for your concern.
Thank you for your concern.
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Insanity from Space
I came across some interesting imagery on my daily treck through the interweb today.
We don't need no water let the motha-***** burn...
Sun Go Boom
Sun Going Boom
Thank you Earth Observatory for providing the fodor for this update.
We don't need no water let the motha-***** burn...
Sun Go Boom
Sun Going Boom
Thank you Earth Observatory for providing the fodor for this update.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
New discussion board
Hey all. I figured since we have a tendency to get into discussions quite a bit, a message board might be a better forum than the "Shout Out" box after each post.
The board is at: http://daguys.proboards24.com/
Feel free to link to this after any of your posts. I will add it to my template so the link is automatically available.
You don't have to register to view or post, but it would be helpful to know who you are :)
See you there :)
The board is at: http://daguys.proboards24.com/
Feel free to link to this after any of your posts. I will add it to my template so the link is automatically available.
You don't have to register to view or post, but it would be helpful to know who you are :)
See you there :)
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Thursday, October 09, 2003
Double-plus Goodread
I just finished reading 1984 today. Doubleplusgood book. Orwell is (was) a very smart man. I like how he managed to predict the cold war stalemate, and specifically nuclear arms proliferation--all before the book was published in 1949.
One of the major sources of conflict in the book is the dichotomy between two differing views of human nature. On one hand, you have "The Blank Slate." Put simply, this is the philosophy that contends that all humans are infinitely malleable; that who they are is entirely a product of their environment. This view is the one held by religious groups (stemming from a belief in the soul) and by the far left--generally borderline socialist and beyond, including many college students (stemming from the belief that culture is its own self contained entity). Due to the extremist movements of the 60s and 70s, this view is the one that is engrained in our culture and has had a profound effect on our public policy.
On the other hand, you have the sociobiologists. They purport that much of what makes up human nature is defined, at least in part, by genes. The characteristics that are at least partially heritable include: intelligence, propensity for violence, liberalism/conservatism, and several others. This view is held by many in the psychological and cognitive science fields, at least by those who don't fall under the liberal extremist category. It is also, interestingly, a view held somewhat instinctively by much of the population, even though they pay lip-service to the Blank Slate. Idiomatic expressions such as "He's a bad egg" and "Winners are born, not made" attest to this belief. (To get a detailed description of these two views and a defense of cognitive science, check out The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Steven Pinker.)
Now, in1984 , these two are set against each other. The Party believes that "human nature is infinitely malleable" and use this to control not only the actions but the thoughts of its citizens. The Party believes that "whoever controls the present controls the past; and whoever controls the past controls the future." Truth exists only in the mind, so if they control the mind, they control everything and will then be endowed with absolute power. The lead character, Winston, believes there is such a thing as absolute truth and that, some day, the proles--the unwashed masses--will rise up against their oppressors and once again be free. The Party is not completely naive, and realizes that maintaining absolute power over an entire nation of hundreds of millions of people will not occur through a simple "socialization." Torture, fear, and intimidation are necessary tools to keep the lower castes from revolting.
Now here is the question I pose to you:
First, ask yourself where you stand on the issue of the Blank Slate vs. sociobiology. Now, envision a 1984-like society and try to imagine the outcome. If the Blank Slate is correct, the population, in theory, should be able to be socialized into accepting complete domination by an all-encompassing power--they would never revolt. However, if sociobiology is correct, and all human beings inherently want to have "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," then given enough time, all oppressed peoples will eventually overthrow their oppressors. Based on your own experiences and perception of human nature, where do you fall on these issues? What conflicts (if any) arise from these beliefs? How do you justify them?
One of the major sources of conflict in the book is the dichotomy between two differing views of human nature. On one hand, you have "The Blank Slate." Put simply, this is the philosophy that contends that all humans are infinitely malleable; that who they are is entirely a product of their environment. This view is the one held by religious groups (stemming from a belief in the soul) and by the far left--generally borderline socialist and beyond, including many college students (stemming from the belief that culture is its own self contained entity). Due to the extremist movements of the 60s and 70s, this view is the one that is engrained in our culture and has had a profound effect on our public policy.
On the other hand, you have the sociobiologists. They purport that much of what makes up human nature is defined, at least in part, by genes. The characteristics that are at least partially heritable include: intelligence, propensity for violence, liberalism/conservatism, and several others. This view is held by many in the psychological and cognitive science fields, at least by those who don't fall under the liberal extremist category. It is also, interestingly, a view held somewhat instinctively by much of the population, even though they pay lip-service to the Blank Slate. Idiomatic expressions such as "He's a bad egg" and "Winners are born, not made" attest to this belief. (To get a detailed description of these two views and a defense of cognitive science, check out The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Steven Pinker.)
Now, in
Now here is the question I pose to you:
First, ask yourself where you stand on the issue of the Blank Slate vs. sociobiology. Now, envision a 1984-like society and try to imagine the outcome. If the Blank Slate is correct, the population, in theory, should be able to be socialized into accepting complete domination by an all-encompassing power--they would never revolt. However, if sociobiology is correct, and all human beings inherently want to have "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," then given enough time, all oppressed peoples will eventually overthrow their oppressors. Based on your own experiences and perception of human nature, where do you fall on these issues? What conflicts (if any) arise from these beliefs? How do you justify them?
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