A Little Left of Centre
…Being a Collection of Musings on just about anything I feel like talking about.
Saturday 1 March 2008
Sunday 17 February 2008
Monday 11 February 2008
Thursday 15 November 2007
Monday 15 October 2007
My bulletproof, patented Book System®.
Leisure
- Started Sophie's Choice
- Started Bonfire of the Vanities
- Finished Bonfire of the Vanities
- Started East of Eden
- Started American Psycho
- Finished American Psycho
- Started Brave New World
- Started Ham on Rye
- Started SICP
- Started Refactoring
- Ended Refactoring
- Started Feynman Lectures on Computation
- Ended Feynman Lectures on Computation
- Started The Making of ‘Dark Side of the Moon’
- Started The Trial


You're the Best :-)
Saturday 13 October 2007
Last Weekend, and the Events and Happenings Contained Therein
Books — Holistic Experience of, Good.
Couch — Placement of Arse Within, Sensation of, Found to be, Great.
Trees — Horizontal, Due to, Interaction with, Saw, Wielded by, Me.
Evidence — Of the Preceding, Photographic, to be Found on Flickr.
Join me next time when I discuss my bulletproof, patented Book System®.
Tuesday 18 September 2007
Monday 10 September 2007
Nw Flickr Phots
Friday 31 August 2007
House M.D.
Tuesday 29 May 2007
IE7, Firefox, and State Space Search
Anyway he has put them down.
ESTRAGON:
(glance at Lucky). So he has. And what of it?
VLADIMIR:
Since he has put down his bags it is impossible we should have asked why he does not do so.
POZZO:
Stoutly reasoned!
Friday 20 April 2007
Toyama Koichi, I Salute Thee

I have always considered myself to be a robust debater, and those who know me, know that I'm no stranger to controversial opinions; but there comes a time in everyone's life when they meet their better — and I recently experienced just this. I have encountered someone so resolutely more controversial than me that my own petty opinions pale in comparison to his. And so, Toyama Koichi, I salute you — http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYgZYkTYUaQ
Friday 23 February 2007
Female Liberation, Argument Against, Counterpoint to.

Before I start I want you to consider this:
“A father and his son were driving to a ball game when their car stalled on the railroad tracks. In the distance a train whistle blew a warning. Frantically, the father tried to start the engine, but in his panic, he couldn't turn the key, and the car was hit by the onrushing train. An ambulance sped to the scene and picked them up. On the way to the hospital, the father died. The son was still alive but his condition was very serious, and he needed immediate surgery. The moment they arrived at the hospital, he was wheeled into an emergency operating room, and the surgeon came in, expecting a routine case. However, on seeing the boy, the surgeon blanched and muttered, 'I can't operate on this boy — he's my son.'”
All Credit to the Magnificent Douglas Hofstadter for the story. I want you to think about this story as you read the following, please don't skip ahead for the answer — t h i n k.
Ok, I'll level with you, the day before yesterday I came across a link that really pissed me off, and I swore blind I'd write a rebuttal to it. Unfortunately I lost the link. So this is a reply to the forevergone original. I'll shy away from saying what exactly the site said, because I have no direct quotes — just a vague haze of idiocy — and secondly because the lack of a link to the original from here is reciprocated on the other end and thus the author has no right of reply, so it'd be a bit unfair to attack his article directly: instead he'll act as a catalytic kernel of argument. Basically the argument was attacking feminism. This isn't uncommon in the world, for some reason the restrictions of political thoughtcrime do not extend to women it would seem. But I'm not one to say things shouldn't be said, I have a faith in the ability of idiots to be trounced in reasoned debate, and so I positively laud their petty contributions. Yes, if this means you by all means contribute a comment or response, and proceed to make a fool of yourself.
There is something deeply wrong with the position and attitudes relating to women in western society (I won't even begin to discuss what transpires elsewhere). For the longest time women (and to be fair plenty of men) have argued that there is an imbalance between the position of the assorted sexes in society — politically, economically, culturally, artistically, socially, everythingally. And it's hard to deny this, it's a pretty self evident fact. Plenty of women gave their lives to secure the enfranchisement of all people regardless of sex, and when we look at today's world it certainly seems they were successful, that is until we look a little deeper. Now there is plenty of economic evidence that women are poorly treated, and in fact positively (negatively? to emphasise the negativity of the positivity) discriminated against. But I won't deal with the base economic facts, instead this piece will lie more in the psychological plane.
There is a terrible phrase in language, on which a great injustice is built: “It's just a bit of fun”, or the more insidious accusatory “Lighten Up”. These are the standard responses to any questioning of female empowerment. Because you see empowerment has come to mean servitude. It's a truly magnificent case of doublethink. Now — An empirical experiment. Seize a television and turn on a music channel, one of the pop channels. Now wait, stop for five minutes and watch…
Ok now you know what female empowerment is, but first a task:
(a) — Compile a list of the people in the video you saw.
(b) — Add a column to your list, in this record the percentage of the person's body which was covered by clothes.
(c) — Add another column to your list, in this record the percentage of the skin exposed (according to question (b)) which was covered with a paint like substance.
Now we'll do something with the list — sort it by the sex of the person denoted by each line. Has a curious pattern emerged? Astoundingly the high percentages have all gravitated to the female end of the list — how curious I hear you chirp shrilly! Curious indeed, queer even, queer enough to merit an investigation.
So what's going on? Why you ask are the women so scantily clad? Here it comes, echoing, bubbling over the horizon like Joyce's hundred letter word bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk…
“It's just a bit of fun”
“Lighten Up”.
Lighten Up. Funny, because what that statement really means is: Darken Down. Quell any and all powers of insight and criticism in your body. Surrender to it, just go with it, don't be a bore. You see there is something very wrong with a world where liberation means the responsibility to self-inflict the very oppression you once railed against. And this stuff is the least dangerous manifestation of sexism present in society, at least this stuff is obvious, there's little hope in missing the impact overt sexualisation of women has, it's right there on your television and magazine. What's much more dangerous is thought, the subtle mental patterns created by language, and culture which create a thriving pool of sexism which affronts women every moment of every day, so much so that they give in to it's most bawdy characteresque stereotypes. I will return to this topic in my next post to discuss Hofstadter's ideas on sexism in language. Did you solve the riddle at the top of this post? What happened — the father rose from the dead? The child was adopted at birth but the surgeon recognised him? Transexual Melodrama? Or is it that you couldn't countenance the notion that the surgeon could be the boy's mother — a woman.
Sometimes words fail us all.
Sunday 21 January 2007
Differentiating Functions in C++
#include <iostream>
using namespace std;
class d
{
private:
double (*f)(double);
double h;
public:
d(double (*function)(double)) : f(function), h(0.0001) {;}
double operator()(double arg)
{
return (((*f)(arg+h)-(*f)(arg))/h);
}
};
double square(double arg)
{
return arg*arg;
}
int main()
{
cout << "square(5) = " << square(5) << endl;
cout << "d(&square)(5) = " << d(&square)(5)<< endl;
return 0;
}
If some templates were added to the functor d this would allow an open ended solution for differentiating numerical functions (albeit in a pretty crude manner); all the same I was surprised at how elegant the end result looked!
– PostScript —
Jason expounds upon the Lisp implementation:
http://jasonmc.wordpress.com/2007/01/24/fun-with-lisp/
Thursday 18 January 2007
Split in Cabinet over Alliance with Radical Islam.


For some time Ireland has been considered a low-risk target for Islamic terrorism, but of late more insidious signals have begun to indicate that the use of Shannon airport by U.S. Forces, as well as Irelands thriving economy and proximity to Britain may lead it to be viewed as a soft target. These worries

More Inside: p.3-p.17; comment: p. 22,23.
Monday 8 January 2007
Changing Times, Changing Perspectives
In a moment it is night.

We're not always aware of the passage of time, and often it seems a year has just slipped by us and out of the room, dripping away steadily until the bucket reaches it's brim (maybe that's a bit morbid, well that's just how it is). All the time our world is changing, our experiences change, and before you take the time to notice: you have changed. I know that in my younger and more vulnerable years (as Gatsby would have it) I held some pretty naive opinions, and time has tempered them into my current world-view. Sometimes it shocks us when we catch a gut reaction which runs against the current of our opinions, like the brief rumble of thunder which precedes a storm that will change our lives. Sometimes this change is a good thing, sometimes we find that within weeks we have retreated with our tail between our legs. The important thing is to remember that, deep as they may be, still waters can stagnate — we should embrace change just as we appreciate stability.
Looking back over this I realise I didn't end up saying what it started out to say. Maybe that's a good thing. I started with the idea that this would be a testament to what I think (prompted by a change recently witnessed in someone whose political ideas I have a world-of-time for), instead it's akin to a death-bed summary of pointless experience. So I apologise for wasting your time, this whole “conversational” blog idea will take a while to ferment.
Sunday 7 January 2007
A Highpoint of Clarity
They do not move.

Saturday 9 December 2006
Monday 4 December 2006
Bad Dream
He steps back, hesitates, turns and exit running.
The light suddenly fails.

That Denture-Hawk with the Bad Spelling. Tops in Pops. Adult Shop the Ultimate Logic. I bank hard left off Dorset St. and onto North Frederick St. The Memorial to the Martyrs of '16 and others to my right, not before Lovinspoon and the Fish Shop that no longer is. My finger tightens: quiver in the hands makes the wings wave Hello. I Scream Low over Parnell (“Ne Plus Ultra”), the Purr in everyones Bellies. Tracksuit Proletarians glance askance and Makeup-Suburbers ripple as I pass the Savoy; Fingers tight around the trigger. Where Once Stood Nelson now Stands Progress; the G.P.O. glows – Standard big as God's Bedsheet Proclaims a Glorious Victory. Big Jim Smiled at Me; I have arisen Jim. I Shake the Single-Panes and eye O'Connell. All Judged Now. I pass the Angel who Chokes the Serpent and contemplate the Filial Loyalty of The Dog. The Liffey; mainline to the mother – all blur now; wider than it is long did you know? Oh I'm close. Back-Quivers. The building above that night club where the Blood Transfusion Service live, the place I dreamed of living in; sniper so subtle. To bank left or right? –– D'Olier or Westmoreland? Straight ahead up Westmoreland. The University ahead; House of Lords to my right. So Close; I can smell Cordite and Perfume. As I scream over the Head of that Lady with the Harp, not to mention the Drunk with the bodhrán, a report sounds to test the guns. A puff of smoke next to Molly is all I needed to see.
Brown Thomas.
My Finger Tightens; Squeezes.
My Plane Overhead; Debasers Below.
In Balance with these Lives; These Deaths.
Friday 24 November 2006
Dublin Bus
Next day. Same time.
Same place.

Let me now officially state unequivocally that if, through some glorious quirk of electoral madness, I had one day in charge our glorious country my first act would be to have the entire management of Dublin Bus, The Department of Transport, and pretty much everyone else related in any way whatsoever to transport in Dublin summarily shot. No Wait maybe that's unfair… Ok I'll settle for Public Hangings. Dublin has the world's worst bus service (don't argue with me or you'll be against the wall too). It's hard to know what element of Dublin Bus is the most infuriating; it's Beckett-esque Timetables (Go on, read Waiting for Godot and substitute "Dublin Bus" for "Godot" – The resemblance is uncanny), it's Kafka-esque pricing structure (€0.37 to the KiloRod, unless the moon is full in Capricorn in which case a Petroleum surcharge of €0.963 applies per Hogshead of Fuel consumed), or its Asshole-esque management. You see Dublin Bus applies many modern principles to it's service including (among many innovations):
- Buses Travel in Convoys to Avoid Insurgent Attacks: sure it means you wait longer than the heat-death of the universe for a Bus, but when it eventually arrives you can take your pick of the 78 identical buses that show up.
- The "As Seirbhís" Decoy: In a cunning ploy reminiscent of Foreplay Dublin Bus goads its waiting passengers with shimmering Mirages on the horizon that hold the promise of Mechanised Travel, Wait, Wait, Wait no As Seirbhís.
- Timetables that require an Advanced Knowledge of the Integral Calculus to determine the Estimated Time of Arrival of a Bus.
Tuesday 14 November 2006
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's.
A country road. A tree.
