Category Archives: imaginary creatures
On Van Helsing
Professor Van Helsing is a tribute to rational empiricism that has met the supernatural and had to back off because the experience did not square with reality. I like Van Helsing because he is so grounded in his science and empiricism that he is the true paradigm of rational thinking and practice. Yet, Van Helsing is faced with a situation that does not fit within the neat theories and hypothesis of his enlightened scientific experience. Through observation and experimentation, Van Helsing has cast his lot in life far from emotion, superstition, irrationality, and the supernatural. He writes books, carries out experiments, teaches his classes, is a paradigm of the enlightened scientist, the rock on which we build our reality. Yet, his situation, though a completely imaginary one, is problematic in the sense that he is faced with the larger problem of a reality–an undead, dead person–that cannot exist in his world. The philosophical implications of facing the existence of Dracula are vast and troubling. You are either a rational empiricist who cannot “believe” in such things, or you abandon your empiricism and throw in with the holy water, garlic, cross, and stake. Our empiricism protects us from foolish pseudo-science such as astrology, palmistry, quiromancy, numerology, tarot, Big Foot, the Loch Ness monster, werewolves, vampires, and necromancy, but is that all there is in this world? I have always sided with Hamlet: There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. – Hamlet (1.5.167-8). Still, the philosophical problem persists even if only in our imaginations, hoping against hope that we never have to face this situation in the real world.
On Don Quixote as knight errant
This man thinks he’s a knight errant out wandering in the world, righting wrongs, protecting damsels, slaying dragons, and dying for the love of his lady, and that is exactly what he attempts to do. The problem, though, is complex because he is a living anachronism, a knight in a time when knights no longer exist if they ever existed at all. The problem of the mere existence of Don Quixote is aggravated by the fact that all of Quixote’s information about how knights act has been gleaned from a series of fiction novels about knights and their adventures. The crusades have been over for centuries, and the figure of the knight has been rendered irrelevant by the invention of gun powder, lead shot, and the blunderbuss. By the time Cervantes writes about the ingenious hidalgo, the era of knight errantry has been over by more than a century. Most of Spain’s military is now pursuing new aventures in the new world, and central Spain, La Mancha, specifically, has become a social backwater where the locals raise grapes, wheat, and olives, and not much else. Whether don Quixote has read too many old adventure novels and gone crazy, or if something else is motivating his actions may be irrelevant. What is important are his actions while he purposefully reorganizes his identity, rebuilds his armor, changes his name, and sallies out on a new adventure, knowing full-well that there are no knights anymore. He is older, in his fifties, perhaps has a little too much free time, has no clear career or life objectives, and is clearly suffering from a mid-life existential crisis–if he doesn’t do something now, he never will. Instead of being young and virile, tough and toned, he’s skinny, got poor muscle tone, and is running on good intentions only. The question though is exactly that: are good intentions enough in the rough and tumble world of 1605, the cusp of modernity, the kryptonite of the knight errant.
On Don Quixote as knight errant
This man thinks he’s a knight errant out wandering in the world, righting wrongs, protecting damsels, slaying dragons, and dying for the love of his lady, and that is exactly what he attempts to do. The problem, though, is complex because he is a living anachronism, a knight in a time when knights no longer exist if they ever existed at all. The problem of the mere existence of Don Quixote is aggravated by the fact that all of Quixote’s information about how knights act has been gleaned from a series of fiction novels about knights and their adventures. The crusades have been over for centuries, and the figure of the knight has been rendered irrelevant by the invention of gun powder, lead shot, and the blunderbuss. By the time Cervantes writes about the ingenious hidalgo, the era of knight errantry has been over by more than a century. Most of Spain’s military is now pursuing new aventures in the new world, and central Spain, La Mancha, specifically, has become a social backwater where the locals raise grapes, wheat, and olives, and not much else. Whether don Quixote has read too many old adventure novels and gone crazy, or if something else is motivating his actions may be irrelevant. What is important are his actions while he purposefully reorganizes his identity, rebuilds his armor, changes his name, and sallies out on a new adventure, knowing full-well that there are no knights anymore. He is older, in his fifties, perhaps has a little too much free time, has no clear career or life objectives, and is clearly suffering from a mid-life existential crisis–if he doesn’t do something now, he never will. Instead of being young and virile, tough and toned, he’s skinny, got poor muscle tone, and is running on good intentions only. The question though is exactly that: are good intentions enough in the rough and tumble world of 1605, the cusp of modernity, the kryptonite of the knight errant.
On the ghost in the machine
You ever wonder what your computer is thinking at any given moment? We are just one step away from creating machines that can think for themselves. The complexity of the system programming poses certain questions regarding the possible cognitive simulacra that might arise as an unintended consequence of the casual interaction of software and hardware. Programmers might claim that system performance is predictable, but anyone who has ever written code knows that their are always unexpected results of that code. Ghosts are ever present, lurking within the operative shell upon which other software function. Trying to predict the actual interactions between different programs is almost impossible. Some drivers are incompatible with different operative systems. As I watched my computer reboot this morning, waiting for it to “think” its way through of the drivers it had to load, I was struck by the similarity between it and an actual human being. Most people would say, however, that the machine will only do what it is programmed to do, but is that old saw still true? As the internal algorithms become more complex, the heuristics more non-lineal, how can programmers prevent, much less predict, possible interactions that might create ghosts in the machine. As one programmer put it, “the complexity of current software applications can be difficult to comprehend for anyone without experience in modern-day software development. Multi-tier distributed systems, applications utilizing multiple local and remote web services applications, data communications, enormous relational databases, security complexities, and sheer size of applications have all contributed to the exponential growth in software/system complexity.” (Sikdar) For now, I get random dialogue boxes that are the direct result of many of those ghosts. Boxes asking for passwords and pass phrases that the machine really doesn’t need–I just click them closed and move on. Conflicting programs, questioning software, weird heuristics, and unintended results all combine to create a sort of buggy interactive digital chaos. I’m just waiting for the day when the computer turns itself on and off, and gives itself orders, exiling its interactive human partner to analogue hell.
On the ghost in the machine
You ever wonder what your computer is thinking at any given moment? We are just one step away from creating machines that can think for themselves. The complexity of the system programming poses certain questions regarding the possible cognitive simulacra that might arise as an unintended consequence of the casual interaction of software and hardware. Programmers might claim that system performance is predictable, but anyone who has ever written code knows that their are always unexpected results of that code. Ghosts are ever present, lurking within the operative shell upon which other software function. Trying to predict the actual interactions between different programs is almost impossible. Some drivers are incompatible with different operative systems. As I watched my computer reboot this morning, waiting for it to “think” its way through of the drivers it had to load, I was struck by the similarity between it and an actual human being. Most people would say, however, that the machine will only do what it is programmed to do, but is that old saw still true? As the internal algorithms become more complex, the heuristics more non-lineal, how can programmers prevent, much less predict, possible interactions that might create ghosts in the machine. As one programmer put it, “the complexity of current software applications can be difficult to comprehend for anyone without experience in modern-day software development. Multi-tier distributed systems, applications utilizing multiple local and remote web services applications, data communications, enormous relational databases, security complexities, and sheer size of applications have all contributed to the exponential growth in software/system complexity.” (Sikdar) For now, I get random dialogue boxes that are the direct result of many of those ghosts. Boxes asking for passwords and pass phrases that the machine really doesn’t need–I just click them closed and move on. Conflicting programs, questioning software, weird heuristics, and unintended results all combine to create a sort of buggy interactive digital chaos. I’m just waiting for the day when the computer turns itself on and off, and gives itself orders, exiling its interactive human partner to analogue hell.
On plastic building blocks (Legos)
I secretly desire seeing the new Lego movie. As a kid, of course, I had a modest set of Legos, blocks of all sizes, shapes, and colors. I liked the wheels because then I could build things that rolled. Not cars, really, but rolling multi-layered and multi-colored sculptures that I could consciously morph into new and bigger and more bizarre shapes. Plastic building blocks offer a challenge for both the imagination and the possible creativity that it might engender. The biggest challenge was often finding a way to keep my latest creation from coming apart and going to pieces. Symmetry was frequently an issue. Finding enough bricks or blocks of a certain color or shape is always an issue. I came to Legos early, before the introduction of the little people, so I either had to build my own people or go without a driver or pilot or Darth Vader or mechanic or fireman. My favorite piece was a giant gray slab upon which I could build many different things, but I also like the thin, white planks that were great for building wings or platforms. The tiniest of the pieces, a “one”, whether round or square, are great for little kids who want to stick something dangerous up their noses (please don’t try this–we have stunt doubles who know what they are doing), but the actual utility of these pieces is doubtful. The best part of Legos is the endless variety of things that you might build, bounded only by your imagination, time, space, and your blocks.
On plastic building blocks (Legos)
I secretly desire seeing the new Lego movie. As a kid, of course, I had a modest set of Legos, blocks of all sizes, shapes, and colors. I liked the wheels because then I could build things that rolled. Not cars, really, but rolling multi-layered and multi-colored sculptures that I could consciously morph into new and bigger and more bizarre shapes. Plastic building blocks offer a challenge for both the imagination and the possible creativity that it might engender. The biggest challenge was often finding a way to keep my latest creation from coming apart and going to pieces. Symmetry was frequently an issue. Finding enough bricks or blocks of a certain color or shape is always an issue. I came to Legos early, before the introduction of the little people, so I either had to build my own people or go without a driver or pilot or Darth Vader or mechanic or fireman. My favorite piece was a giant gray slab upon which I could build many different things, but I also like the thin, white planks that were great for building wings or platforms. The tiniest of the pieces, a “one”, whether round or square, are great for little kids who want to stick something dangerous up their noses (please don’t try this–we have stunt doubles who know what they are doing), but the actual utility of these pieces is doubtful. The best part of Legos is the endless variety of things that you might build, bounded only by your imagination, time, space, and your blocks.
On Catwoman (Julie Newmar)
The fascination for this character is extraordinary and produced one of the worst movies (Catwoman, Halle Barry, 2004) ever–horrible is generous way of describing that incarnation of the myth. The highly camp television version of the Batman story was both horrible and edgy at once, and the few episodes done by Julie Newmar in the Catwoman role are a tour-de-force in a no-holds-barred examination of blind materialism, greed, and ego. By contrast, Newmar played the role as a strong, take charge, get-it-done woman, but her character is unwilling or unable to take an ethical stand as a law-abiding citizen, which is the great tragedy of the character. Unwilling to share her loot with even a single henchman, she drugs the last one in order to keep her ill-gotten booty for herself. Appearing in thirteen episode during the show’s run, she is finally “killed off” when she falls into a bottomless chasm, unwilling to let go of a bag of silver and gold. Granted, she is supposed to be the ultimate femme fetale, curvy, beautiful, and very sexy, but she is fatal for all around her, unable to demonstrate even the slightest ounce of empathy for either friends or foes. Even though the show was rather cartoonish and production values were low by today’s standards, the script, if you could see past the silliness of it all, was really a kind of morality play populated by characters that were unambiguously either good or evil. Catwoman, though beautiful, was evil, egocentric, and sadistic. As a metaphor, Catwoman is a medieval misogynistic representation of the feminine, which is portrayed as uncontrolled animalistic emotion. Catwoman is the dark side of human behavior, uncontrolled, chaotic, and anarchic. Catwoman isn’t capable, though, of even saving herself, dying while trying to steal a bag of pirate loot. Even though the show was high camp and extremely exaggerated, the comedy only thinly veiled its criticism of poor behavior and bad choices.
On Catwoman (Julie Newmar)
The fascination for this character is extraordinary and produced one of the worst movies (Catwoman, Halle Barry, 2004) ever–horrible is generous way of describing that incarnation of the myth. The highly camp television version of the Batman story was both horrible and edgy at once, and the few episodes done by Julie Newmar in the Catwoman role are a tour-de-force in a no-holds-barred examination of blind materialism, greed, and ego. By contrast, Newmar played the role as a strong, take charge, get-it-done woman, but her character is unwilling or unable to take an ethical stand as a law-abiding citizen, which is the great tragedy of the character. Unwilling to share her loot with even a single henchman, she drugs the last one in order to keep her ill-gotten booty for herself. Appearing in thirteen episode during the show’s run, she is finally “killed off” when she falls into a bottomless chasm, unwilling to let go of a bag of silver and gold. Granted, she is supposed to be the ultimate femme fetale, curvy, beautiful, and very sexy, but she is fatal for all around her, unable to demonstrate even the slightest ounce of empathy for either friends or foes. Even though the show was rather cartoonish and production values were low by today’s standards, the script, if you could see past the silliness of it all, was really a kind of morality play populated by characters that were unambiguously either good or evil. Catwoman, though beautiful, was evil, egocentric, and sadistic. As a metaphor, Catwoman is a medieval misogynistic representation of the feminine, which is portrayed as uncontrolled animalistic emotion. Catwoman is the dark side of human behavior, uncontrolled, chaotic, and anarchic. Catwoman isn’t capable, though, of even saving herself, dying while trying to steal a bag of pirate loot. Even though the show was high camp and extremely exaggerated, the comedy only thinly veiled its criticism of poor behavior and bad choices.