Monday, 28 January 2008
Friday, 18 January 2008
Why's Poignant Guide to Ruby
Odd things keep turning up on the internet. Here is one of the oddest I have seen. Have a look at Why's (poignant) guide to Ruby whether you program computers or not. An elf and his pet ham. A giraffe surrounded by weezards. Microscopic canaries. They teach you the ins and outs of the Ruby programming language. When they are not hijacking the text for their own nefarious purposes.
The author is insane. Certifiably insane. He may also be a genius.
Don't waste time here. Just go and read it.
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
From ancient Egypt to modern Thibet, the idea that "by means of regulated labour and the strict discipline of the senses and appetites, it was in the power of man to perfect his moral nature" has motivated the creation of communities of monks. In 1748 I had moral perfection very much on my mind, having returned from my first visit to China, still disguised as a man. It is hard to explain to modern reader how in that age we so completely accepted the belief that man was physically and intellectually equipped for perfection, but woman, with her "inverted" sex and passive nature, was flawed. I had travelled to the ends of the earth and back again and found all peoples in agreement on this point. On the contrary I deeply felt myself the equal to any man, and resolved to discover the truth among the deepest thinkers I could find. So without shedding my disguise I applied as a novice to XX.
I was not the only woman to have done so. Saint Margarita of Antoich held marriage in such horror that she fled the nuptial chamber and took refuge in a monastery under the name of Pelagius, eventually becoming prior of a convent. Her disguise was so complete that when the portress of the convent became pregnant and Pelagius accused of being the father, she was expelled and continued her devotions as a hermit nearby. Her true sex was revealed only upon her death. Saint Hildegund entered the Cistercian order as a lay brother until her death, and of course the life of Joan of Arc is well known. I felt there was no other way for my arguments to be taken seriously unless my listeners felt they were the opinions of a man.
I was not the only woman to have done so. Saint Margarita of Antoich held marriage in such horror that she fled the nuptial chamber and took refuge in a monastery under the name of Pelagius, eventually becoming prior of a convent. Her disguise was so complete that when the portress of the convent became pregnant and Pelagius accused of being the father, she was expelled and continued her devotions as a hermit nearby. Her true sex was revealed only upon her death. Saint Hildegund entered the Cistercian order as a lay brother until her death, and of course the life of Joan of Arc is well known. I felt there was no other way for my arguments to be taken seriously unless my listeners felt they were the opinions of a man.
At the monastery
From ancient Egypt to modern Thibet, the idea that "by means of regulated labour and the strict discipline of the senses and appetites, it was in the power of man to perfect his moral nature" has motivated the creation of communities of monks. In 1748 I had moral perfection very much on my mind, having returned from my first visit to China, still disguised as a man. It is hard to explain to modern reader how in that age we so completely accepted the belief that man was physically and intellectually equipped for perfection, but woman, with her "inverted" sex and passive nature, was flawed. I had travelled to the ends of the earth and back again and found all peoples in agreement on this point. On the contrary I deeply felt myself the equal to any man, and resolved to discover the truth among the deepest thinkers I could find. So without shedding my disguise I applied as a novice to XX.
I was not the only woman to have done so. Saint Margarita of Antoich held marriage in such horror that she fled the nuptial chamber and took refuge in a monastery under the name of Pelagius, eventually becoming prior of a convent. Her disguise was so complete that when the portress of the convent became pregnant and Pelagius accused of being the father, she was expelled and continued her devotions as a hermit nearby. Her true sex was revealed only upon her death. Saint Hildegund entered the Cistercian order as a lay brother until her death, and of course the life of Joan of Arc is well known. I felt there was no other way for my arguments to be taken seriously unless my listeners believed they emanated of a man.
I lived and worked with the lay brothers, awaking in the middle of the night to light the candles and set them in place at the choir, the chanting of the Pater, the Ave and the Creed, the reading of the psalms of the Nocturn, the first lessons, the Responsorium, Lauds, and back to the dormitory for our second repose, the morning Mass, awaiting the priests and seniors to finish in the lavatoriums, the daily Chapter, from which we novices were excused, until the sounding of the tabula sonatila, three strokes on a wood block, representing our coming into the world, our passage through life, and our transit through the portals of death, the signal that we might commence talking. The period of Parliament, during which the business of the monastery was conducted, was for novices a time to walk with our teachers and ask questions about scripture and regular observance. Then High Mass at ten, processions with relics and banners, followed by dinner in the refectory, washing and then several hours devoted to reading or labour. The youngest of us were encouraged to play outdoors in simple games and amusements, for it was the belief that as "bows always bent" we risked losing the power of "aiming straight at perfection". I usually engaged someone in a game of chess, or bowling on the lawn. We were not gloomy monks, and always surrounded by cheerful brethren. We worked through the afternoons, in the bakehouse, the cellars, the alehouse, or the fields. About five in the afternoon we returned for Vespers, and supper, followed by the collation when we were given a little wine and bread to last us until dinner the next day, and at last the bells called us to Compline and bed.
So my days passed in a calm and healing.
I had entered the monastery confused and restless: for I had escaped the Devil only a few short years earlier, and was thinking deeply on all I had learned in China. This was immediately noticed by my seniors, who gently encouraged me, without knowing why I suffered.
I was not the only woman to have done so. Saint Margarita of Antoich held marriage in such horror that she fled the nuptial chamber and took refuge in a monastery under the name of Pelagius, eventually becoming prior of a convent. Her disguise was so complete that when the portress of the convent became pregnant and Pelagius accused of being the father, she was expelled and continued her devotions as a hermit nearby. Her true sex was revealed only upon her death. Saint Hildegund entered the Cistercian order as a lay brother until her death, and of course the life of Joan of Arc is well known. I felt there was no other way for my arguments to be taken seriously unless my listeners believed they emanated of a man.
I lived and worked with the lay brothers, awaking in the middle of the night to light the candles and set them in place at the choir, the chanting of the Pater, the Ave and the Creed, the reading of the psalms of the Nocturn, the first lessons, the Responsorium, Lauds, and back to the dormitory for our second repose, the morning Mass, awaiting the priests and seniors to finish in the lavatoriums, the daily Chapter, from which we novices were excused, until the sounding of the tabula sonatila, three strokes on a wood block, representing our coming into the world, our passage through life, and our transit through the portals of death, the signal that we might commence talking. The period of Parliament, during which the business of the monastery was conducted, was for novices a time to walk with our teachers and ask questions about scripture and regular observance. Then High Mass at ten, processions with relics and banners, followed by dinner in the refectory, washing and then several hours devoted to reading or labour. The youngest of us were encouraged to play outdoors in simple games and amusements, for it was the belief that as "bows always bent" we risked losing the power of "aiming straight at perfection". I usually engaged someone in a game of chess, or bowling on the lawn. We were not gloomy monks, and always surrounded by cheerful brethren. We worked through the afternoons, in the bakehouse, the cellars, the alehouse, or the fields. About five in the afternoon we returned for Vespers, and supper, followed by the collation when we were given a little wine and bread to last us until dinner the next day, and at last the bells called us to Compline and bed.
So my days passed in a calm and healing.
I had entered the monastery confused and restless: for I had escaped the Devil only a few short years earlier, and was thinking deeply on all I had learned in China. This was immediately noticed by my seniors, who gently encouraged me, without knowing why I suffered.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Readership surge
How odd that the number of my readers should double during the same period I am traveling and not making any posts. Most of the new visitors decline to stay for any appreciable length of time, so they must be arriving in error. The referring pages are images.google.some Scandinavian or eastern European country, and link directly to my images from Versailles.
Ah.
My photographs of that wonderful build rank on the first page of the large image search with Versailles as the search term.
Europe must be making summer travel plans.
Bon voyage tout le monde. Don't forget to pack your periwigs.
Ah.
My photographs of that wonderful build rank on the first page of the large image search with Versailles as the search term.
Europe must be making summer travel plans.
Bon voyage tout le monde. Don't forget to pack your periwigs.
Forbidden Droplettes
I may not have made the front page of the People's Daily, or even the Beijing Evening News, but I drew no little attention bringing a solo Droplette act to the Forbidden City. I danced, I fainted, I danced again, until I was asked to kindly take my anachronistic antics somewhere else. I can't tell you what came over me. I usually conduct myself with gravitas when traveling. Well, troupe, there may be an audience for The Show Must Go On in China, but you must exercise better judgment than I did in your choice of venue.
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Eight Random Facts about Me[me]
No one tagged me, but I'm sending you eight random facts anyway. Facts I have never admitted to anyone. Facts I almost cannot bear to admit. Facts I am sure you will not want to know. Tant pis. It's not a democracy, it's a blog.
1) I once fell in love with DD, an encyclopaediast, but foolishly accepted the unfortunate estate of marriage with the Devil instead, a very, very long time ago, and carry the scars to prove it. We fought like game-cocks, and the contest cost me dearly. I am still on the run from that eternal, dreadful doom, but he is preoccupied with the current state of Creation and generally leaves me alone.
2) I sleep with the light on.
3) I cannot rest when intoxicated. I will spew nonsensical speech for hours, and utterly annhilate the patience of those acquaintances foolish enough to encourage me. There is a faculty in the makeup of a woman's intelligence given over to fancy and puns when discretion is drown'd. Wine and beauty great souls should inspire, but I in my cups have a tongue that won't tire. Puns and execrable rhymes.
4) I never was a lover of business but now have just reason to hate it, as it keeps me these two months past from seeing my friends. Fie! We were born for play and gaiety, and still I labour like an anthill.
5) I have given up most of my possessions, but yet covet all the beautiful things of the world. I know I have not treasure enough to sate even the smallest share of my desire, and so consume the universe of forms extravagantly with my eyes, and store their pretty images in my heart, driving out all thought of the divine.
6) I was once thrown out of a monastery for impersonating a monk.
7) I aspire to be a poet and an artist, but an overlong life robs all urgency from the task. I too love opera, but cannot sing a note in tune, even were my life to depend upon it.
8) I do not, in fact, exist. Not in any measurable physical form. I do inspire and, not to put too fine a point on it, control one happy individual and thereby effect my will upon the world. Living through a proxy has certain advantages: I do not pay taxes. I may be insubstantial but I am not immortal and I am certain I shall, eventually, die. I do not believe in the soul, though I believe our imaginations include the memories of some of those who have gone before us.
And now I should tag others. But as the declared visitors to my blog are contained within a small gang of miscreants, most of whom have already bitten their memes, I hereby tag ye who lurk and read without commenting, you the unknowable and silent inheritors.
1) I once fell in love with DD, an encyclopaediast, but foolishly accepted the unfortunate estate of marriage with the Devil instead, a very, very long time ago, and carry the scars to prove it. We fought like game-cocks, and the contest cost me dearly. I am still on the run from that eternal, dreadful doom, but he is preoccupied with the current state of Creation and generally leaves me alone.
2) I sleep with the light on.
3) I cannot rest when intoxicated. I will spew nonsensical speech for hours, and utterly annhilate the patience of those acquaintances foolish enough to encourage me. There is a faculty in the makeup of a woman's intelligence given over to fancy and puns when discretion is drown'd. Wine and beauty great souls should inspire, but I in my cups have a tongue that won't tire. Puns and execrable rhymes.
4) I never was a lover of business but now have just reason to hate it, as it keeps me these two months past from seeing my friends. Fie! We were born for play and gaiety, and still I labour like an anthill.
5) I have given up most of my possessions, but yet covet all the beautiful things of the world. I know I have not treasure enough to sate even the smallest share of my desire, and so consume the universe of forms extravagantly with my eyes, and store their pretty images in my heart, driving out all thought of the divine.
6) I was once thrown out of a monastery for impersonating a monk.
7) I aspire to be a poet and an artist, but an overlong life robs all urgency from the task. I too love opera, but cannot sing a note in tune, even were my life to depend upon it.
8) I do not, in fact, exist. Not in any measurable physical form. I do inspire and, not to put too fine a point on it, control one happy individual and thereby effect my will upon the world. Living through a proxy has certain advantages: I do not pay taxes. I may be insubstantial but I am not immortal and I am certain I shall, eventually, die. I do not believe in the soul, though I believe our imaginations include the memories of some of those who have gone before us.
And now I should tag others. But as the declared visitors to my blog are contained within a small gang of miscreants, most of whom have already bitten their memes, I hereby tag ye who lurk and read without commenting, you the unknowable and silent inheritors.
And Home again!
Striking a pose at Yuyuan Gardens in Shanghai.
And a bitterly cold New Year's day on the Great Wall.
I was unable to rouse any friends on an afternoon visit to Second Life, but did visit Privateer Space and was given a tour of this detailed and enormous build by new friend Muttonchops Chaplin, whom you will see piloting the aethercraft. Thank you, Mr. Chaplin, for rescuing me from some dreadful missteps and meteoric descents. I was impressed by a mustachioed robot and the ruins of an underground Martian civilization.
I was travelling incognito, of course, as Carnevale is just around the corner.
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