progress marches inevitably onward. hold that. let's not say there's something called "progress" that moves along without you or me. no no. there's some smart dude, todd, & some of his friends who don't give a shit about the rest of it. and they use there minds to work out some crazy shit with motors computers and the human body and the human mind. and that is definitive.
"Developed within the Neural Engineering Center for Artificial Limbs (NECAL) at RIC, Dr. Todd Kuiken, MD, PhD, pioneered the muscle reinnervation procedure which takes an amputee’s own nerves and connects them to a healthy muscle. In this case, four of Mr. Sullivan’s nerves were dissected from the shoulder and transferred to the muscles of his chest. Doing so allows the user to move his or her prosthetic arm as if it were a real limb – by simply thinking about what they want the arm to do. The "Bionic Arm," or myoelectric arm, is driven using electrical signals from the muscles of the chest, now activated by the user’s own thought-generated nerve impulses. These impulses are sensed, via surface electrodes, from the pectoral muscle and carried through to the mechanical arm, causing the arm to move."
Monday, September 19, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Contemporary Uses of Liberalism
ok i'm blogging this now. it's 8 questions 5 respondents answer each one. p0rn st0rm will respond later ...
Friday, September 09, 2005
cultural re-enactment and the american dream
p0rnst0rm says:
heh this another funny thing about the suburban dream: have a good job to pay for a nice house in a safe pretty neighborhood so that you can then be free to go to the movies manufacture the emotions (fear, excitement) you've worked so hard to get away from. heh "i can't even remember what it is i came her to get away from." haha.
daybrown answers:
Because all the land outside New Orleans was swamp, early on folks got into fixing up old houses. I lived in a lot of them, and did some of the fixing myself, but when you down thru 7 layers
of wallpaper, it occurs to you, that whatever you do to the wall, will in time be redone by another.
Only in recent decades has the freeway system enable folks to move far enough out to 'develop' the usual sprawl, with the usual notion that some dude will 'improve' the landscape with his own house. But you havta be blind not to notice all the water you drive over on the way into New Orleans, and be dense not to ponder whether it will all stay where they put it.
Thucydides:"People marveled at their successes, whether their means were adequate or not, and the day came when they confused their hopes with realities." Luck always runs out.
Back in the early 70's, I thot it was pure hubris, when "Rock & Roll will live forever" played on the radio. When I was young, I new nothing of the Big Band music my mom's generation listened to. And as time has gone on, I am constantly reminded by all the young people now listening to, and knowing the lyrics of music from a bygone era. Young folks know the words to old songs that I never did figure out. Bizzarrrr.
But it was the technology; the electric amplification opened up new ways of expression, and the media developed to spread that expression further than ever, around the globe... cheaply. It has, by now, somewhat run the course; there is, after all, only so much you can do to a guitar string. And
I detect a certain envy, a kind of reconstructionalism. just as there are Revolutionary and Civil war re-enactors, so there are neo-hippies, poor as always, outcaste, non-conformist. But they are not making music that will be listened to decades hence.
American culture has passed its classic era, is now baroque, rococo, with snippets of old art spliced together as if it'd then be new art. Nobody gives a fuck what you put on vinyl or canvas any more. Cubist oil painting became acrylic abstract expressionism, and now its just pixels.
The American dream went on like fireworks, amazed people, but now the show's over, and we're standing around saying how good it was.
heh this another funny thing about the suburban dream: have a good job to pay for a nice house in a safe pretty neighborhood so that you can then be free to go to the movies manufacture the emotions (fear, excitement) you've worked so hard to get away from. heh "i can't even remember what it is i came her to get away from." haha.
daybrown answers:
Because all the land outside New Orleans was swamp, early on folks got into fixing up old houses. I lived in a lot of them, and did some of the fixing myself, but when you down thru 7 layers
of wallpaper, it occurs to you, that whatever you do to the wall, will in time be redone by another.
Only in recent decades has the freeway system enable folks to move far enough out to 'develop' the usual sprawl, with the usual notion that some dude will 'improve' the landscape with his own house. But you havta be blind not to notice all the water you drive over on the way into New Orleans, and be dense not to ponder whether it will all stay where they put it.
Thucydides:"People marveled at their successes, whether their means were adequate or not, and the day came when they confused their hopes with realities." Luck always runs out.
Back in the early 70's, I thot it was pure hubris, when "Rock & Roll will live forever" played on the radio. When I was young, I new nothing of the Big Band music my mom's generation listened to. And as time has gone on, I am constantly reminded by all the young people now listening to, and knowing the lyrics of music from a bygone era. Young folks know the words to old songs that I never did figure out. Bizzarrrr.
But it was the technology; the electric amplification opened up new ways of expression, and the media developed to spread that expression further than ever, around the globe... cheaply. It has, by now, somewhat run the course; there is, after all, only so much you can do to a guitar string. And
I detect a certain envy, a kind of reconstructionalism. just as there are Revolutionary and Civil war re-enactors, so there are neo-hippies, poor as always, outcaste, non-conformist. But they are not making music that will be listened to decades hence.
American culture has passed its classic era, is now baroque, rococo, with snippets of old art spliced together as if it'd then be new art. Nobody gives a fuck what you put on vinyl or canvas any more. Cubist oil painting became acrylic abstract expressionism, and now its just pixels.
The American dream went on like fireworks, amazed people, but now the show's over, and we're standing around saying how good it was.
Monday, August 29, 2005
fortitude at the grocery store before the big one
'You can sign my death certificate,' cigar bar owner Michael Kincaid said, standing in line at Mattassa's corner grocery with a six-pack of beer, a bag of potato chips and a package of chocolate chip cookies. 'My biggest investment is here, so I'm going to stay with it.'
Friday, August 19, 2005
Jazz singer Peyroux 'disappears'
BBC NEWS: "A record label has hired a private detective to trace jazz singer Madeleine Peyroux, whose album has been steadily climbing the UK charts. The US singer has failed to turn up for any promotional work, according to Universal Classics. It said this was not the first time she had vanished, spending seven years busking in Paris after the release of her debut album."
Friday, August 05, 2005
Patti Smith Summerstage 2005
4 Aug 2005 Central Park New York NY
The air is hot and thick and if you move too much you'll start sweating all over again. I'd waited in line and now i'm sitting in some bright white folding chairs, almost straight before the center microphone. I look over and see the sun about to dip behind a tall building. When it finally does, there's a breath of cool air and the techs come out to fix up the stage for Janet Hamill & Moving Star, the night's opening act. I've never been to a Patti Smith show before and the woman next to me, Nadia, is telling me the legends and some of the mythology.
There's anticipation in the air, like there always is at a concert. The crowd is of many ages: it probably reflects the general proportions of age groups in the city and the country. There are some people who look like real squares-- some reading the Times Literary Supplement and others discussing health care plans. Some are all the way down the line like the look-at-that-dude & Nadia-taps-her-forearm-dude. Nearby an Indian mother who doesn't seem to know much about Patti Smith seems to be chaperoning her two young Indian-American teens who have convinced her to go. When the ambient music on the speakers shifts from Latin & Salsa instrumentals to an Arabic singer, and the mother and daughters want to know the language (Arabic) we can't help but perceive 21st Century global realities in U.S. Culture set the stage for the post-world-war-II almost-historical music we're about to see.
Twilight is falling and people are looking up just who Janet Hamill is on the program. She's Patti Smith's mentor from the 60s. She's a beat poet who's taken on a backing band. And now she's taken the stage letting us know she's from Goshen NY. One guy in the crowd calls out Goshen as if he's from there. Her drummer, bassist, and guitarist crash into a Credence Clearwater Revival style groove, and Janet jumps into a poem. The way she recites it her voice climbs through each line she recites like she's just gotten up off the rooftops and is reaching for the sky. In fact one refrain is "What is heaven for" if you can't get there in an earthly human way. More than one bird crosses her poems. She calls out to stay up all night and in another refrain she proposes one of the elements of the party should be backyard telescopes trained on the stars. There's a long sea metaphor. Her second poem is an explicit tribute to Jack Kerouac. Now there are billboards twice their normal size dazzlingly alight. And there's people going to and fro under the great Night.
She goes into a third poem. She has a flutist, a guy with white hair working the keyboard like an alchemist making accompanying sounds and scapes. Some members go and an acoustic guitarist comes on. She lays down some rhythm guitar for another poem. Janet plays the harmonica not for harmonies but very frankly and unconcernedly before a final stanza. Nadia and I are listening to the words and we institute a three strike rule. If a word comes along that totally falls flat she gets a strike. "bloody prayer" comes down. Strike One. Three poems later we're wondering how many at-bats she gets. I get a hot-dog and fries. Everyone looks like they have a Stella Artois in hand. Someone opens a Greek dish in a white styrofoam container and all rows around note the delicious smell. When her set closes, we decide she's not perfect, but she's unafraid, uncompromising, and capturing something serious of the poetic traditions.
Paul Schaeffer, word that he's a regular keyboardist on television comes down the row, comes on to announce that Patti will be on soon and that we should all get a refreshment and prepare ourselves. Nadia is seeing lots of people she knows; there's a strong contingent of those who've been on the scene for a long time. Nighttime is fallen and when i look up, the stage-rail has been crowded so that anyone who thought he'd sit near the front has now found that to be an impossibility.
In a flash, her band has taken the stage and have hit into the first song. She's laying the words in with a sharp edge to her voice. She's articulating some of the lines with the hiss of a snake. She's even-handed, balanced, and strong. She's confident in all she sings. In a few lines she's dispelled any doubt and people press toward the stage. She encourages us, too, waving us toward the stage. At points she puts her boot up on the monitor and lays out the line like it means everything, like she's singing to you. Now my ears are glued to everything she says, and eyes to everything she does.
She's got a dip or something spitting every now and then in the middle of the song or between songs. The dude who yelled "Goshen" yells something silly but kind of unintelligible. Patti: "Whut?". No answer. She picks up an acoustic and puts down a rapid-fire rhythm. Between verses she plays face to face with Lenny Kaye, her long time guitarist. He kicks into another gear and does as he feels, friend to the high notes. I wish I knew the words, because with dancing and everything going on I'm missing a lot of them.
Then she says: "I'm going to play an American folk song," drawling out american a little "sing along if you know the words." She opens Like A Rolling Stone a few are singing the verse. When she gets to the refrain every single member of the audience sings loud and clear, and she knows she's opened something in the crowd. She's vehement in her delivery. More and more people are dancing.
Now she points out Jerry Garcia's birthday. It warrants a week of celebration she says. A nine day week. She's rocking the vocals hard. This time the guitarist on the left takes the solo and does well with it. She's dressed in a flannel-shirt sweat-shirt I can't tell what type thing. She's got anyone's jeans and a white shirt. Her 1st decoration are these suede boots she wears that you see prominently when she steps up on the monitor and as she's constantly moving around the stage. She waves to one part of the crowd. She sings to the right. She gets down low and sings to one person in the audience. She curses a photographer who's come to the front to try to get her picture, "Get the Fuck Outta Here" in between verses. She smiles and waves to another part of the crowd. Her only other decoration is a large cross probably 4 inches by 2 inches around her neck. You can really see it when she sings the song, Jesus died for everyone's sins but mine.
She does two other songs many people know, but I don't and then she jumps into Because The Night which i know well. The whole place is rockin' and the people who were all over their cell-phone-camcorders have given it up and are just rocking out too. Each member of the band is awesome, delivering on the instrumentals. Patti dances in Lenny's face as he solos. He takes it out to a rapturous level. Everyone loves it and cheers.
Now she brings up Jerry Garcia again, this time telling a legend that begins "one hot sweaty night in the dog days of August." It's about a boy with sturdy legs and a man tired looking for a place to lay his weary head. She goes back and forth between these characters and raises her voice. Soon she puts here arms out and is looking up at the stage lights as her story and the band have reached some kind of frenzy. She could even be channeling some kind of spirit. She might be channeling Jerry, but more likely, she's getting Jerry to help her channel something else. And from there she breaks into another awesome Rock & Roll song with a real rock and even more roll. People are really dancing to this; new rhythm is coursing through everyone.
Then she goes into a song for all those who've died in the recent "strike and illegal occupation." When the crowd answers strong, she goes into a longer tirade about the things the people in power do and how "they'll do it again and again and again and again" She lays on that again word and we know it. And into a slower song. it starts slow but when we hear her sing the refrain, something like "one day if we're strong enough, maybe, we'll be able to rebuild the peaceful nation." It picks up force.
Now it's getting near the end and when the lights flash off briefly between songs everyone's worried it's already the encore. People seem to want to stay for a long time. She throws in some shout-outs to new york. She introduces her band including the competent bassist and guitarist on the right as her son. Everyone gives an extra cheer for Lenny Kaye. Patti is rushing around the stage as if to make sure she touches each and everyone in the audience before she goes. The last song is over too quickly, and the lights change. I say my good-byes to the people I met and we're released now into the hot August night out through the park into the streets and subways of New York City.
All the songs and everything are all mostly out of order.
The air is hot and thick and if you move too much you'll start sweating all over again. I'd waited in line and now i'm sitting in some bright white folding chairs, almost straight before the center microphone. I look over and see the sun about to dip behind a tall building. When it finally does, there's a breath of cool air and the techs come out to fix up the stage for Janet Hamill & Moving Star, the night's opening act. I've never been to a Patti Smith show before and the woman next to me, Nadia, is telling me the legends and some of the mythology.
There's anticipation in the air, like there always is at a concert. The crowd is of many ages: it probably reflects the general proportions of age groups in the city and the country. There are some people who look like real squares-- some reading the Times Literary Supplement and others discussing health care plans. Some are all the way down the line like the look-at-that-dude & Nadia-taps-her-forearm-dude. Nearby an Indian mother who doesn't seem to know much about Patti Smith seems to be chaperoning her two young Indian-American teens who have convinced her to go. When the ambient music on the speakers shifts from Latin & Salsa instrumentals to an Arabic singer, and the mother and daughters want to know the language (Arabic) we can't help but perceive 21st Century global realities in U.S. Culture set the stage for the post-world-war-II almost-historical music we're about to see.
Twilight is falling and people are looking up just who Janet Hamill is on the program. She's Patti Smith's mentor from the 60s. She's a beat poet who's taken on a backing band. And now she's taken the stage letting us know she's from Goshen NY. One guy in the crowd calls out Goshen as if he's from there. Her drummer, bassist, and guitarist crash into a Credence Clearwater Revival style groove, and Janet jumps into a poem. The way she recites it her voice climbs through each line she recites like she's just gotten up off the rooftops and is reaching for the sky. In fact one refrain is "What is heaven for" if you can't get there in an earthly human way. More than one bird crosses her poems. She calls out to stay up all night and in another refrain she proposes one of the elements of the party should be backyard telescopes trained on the stars. There's a long sea metaphor. Her second poem is an explicit tribute to Jack Kerouac. Now there are billboards twice their normal size dazzlingly alight. And there's people going to and fro under the great Night.
She goes into a third poem. She has a flutist, a guy with white hair working the keyboard like an alchemist making accompanying sounds and scapes. Some members go and an acoustic guitarist comes on. She lays down some rhythm guitar for another poem. Janet plays the harmonica not for harmonies but very frankly and unconcernedly before a final stanza. Nadia and I are listening to the words and we institute a three strike rule. If a word comes along that totally falls flat she gets a strike. "bloody prayer" comes down. Strike One. Three poems later we're wondering how many at-bats she gets. I get a hot-dog and fries. Everyone looks like they have a Stella Artois in hand. Someone opens a Greek dish in a white styrofoam container and all rows around note the delicious smell. When her set closes, we decide she's not perfect, but she's unafraid, uncompromising, and capturing something serious of the poetic traditions.
Paul Schaeffer, word that he's a regular keyboardist on television comes down the row, comes on to announce that Patti will be on soon and that we should all get a refreshment and prepare ourselves. Nadia is seeing lots of people she knows; there's a strong contingent of those who've been on the scene for a long time. Nighttime is fallen and when i look up, the stage-rail has been crowded so that anyone who thought he'd sit near the front has now found that to be an impossibility.
In a flash, her band has taken the stage and have hit into the first song. She's laying the words in with a sharp edge to her voice. She's articulating some of the lines with the hiss of a snake. She's even-handed, balanced, and strong. She's confident in all she sings. In a few lines she's dispelled any doubt and people press toward the stage. She encourages us, too, waving us toward the stage. At points she puts her boot up on the monitor and lays out the line like it means everything, like she's singing to you. Now my ears are glued to everything she says, and eyes to everything she does.
She's got a dip or something spitting every now and then in the middle of the song or between songs. The dude who yelled "Goshen" yells something silly but kind of unintelligible. Patti: "Whut?". No answer. She picks up an acoustic and puts down a rapid-fire rhythm. Between verses she plays face to face with Lenny Kaye, her long time guitarist. He kicks into another gear and does as he feels, friend to the high notes. I wish I knew the words, because with dancing and everything going on I'm missing a lot of them.
Then she says: "I'm going to play an American folk song," drawling out american a little "sing along if you know the words." She opens Like A Rolling Stone a few are singing the verse. When she gets to the refrain every single member of the audience sings loud and clear, and she knows she's opened something in the crowd. She's vehement in her delivery. More and more people are dancing.
Now she points out Jerry Garcia's birthday. It warrants a week of celebration she says. A nine day week. She's rocking the vocals hard. This time the guitarist on the left takes the solo and does well with it. She's dressed in a flannel-shirt sweat-shirt I can't tell what type thing. She's got anyone's jeans and a white shirt. Her 1st decoration are these suede boots she wears that you see prominently when she steps up on the monitor and as she's constantly moving around the stage. She waves to one part of the crowd. She sings to the right. She gets down low and sings to one person in the audience. She curses a photographer who's come to the front to try to get her picture, "Get the Fuck Outta Here" in between verses. She smiles and waves to another part of the crowd. Her only other decoration is a large cross probably 4 inches by 2 inches around her neck. You can really see it when she sings the song, Jesus died for everyone's sins but mine.
She does two other songs many people know, but I don't and then she jumps into Because The Night which i know well. The whole place is rockin' and the people who were all over their cell-phone-camcorders have given it up and are just rocking out too. Each member of the band is awesome, delivering on the instrumentals. Patti dances in Lenny's face as he solos. He takes it out to a rapturous level. Everyone loves it and cheers.
Now she brings up Jerry Garcia again, this time telling a legend that begins "one hot sweaty night in the dog days of August." It's about a boy with sturdy legs and a man tired looking for a place to lay his weary head. She goes back and forth between these characters and raises her voice. Soon she puts here arms out and is looking up at the stage lights as her story and the band have reached some kind of frenzy. She could even be channeling some kind of spirit. She might be channeling Jerry, but more likely, she's getting Jerry to help her channel something else. And from there she breaks into another awesome Rock & Roll song with a real rock and even more roll. People are really dancing to this; new rhythm is coursing through everyone.
Then she goes into a song for all those who've died in the recent "strike and illegal occupation." When the crowd answers strong, she goes into a longer tirade about the things the people in power do and how "they'll do it again and again and again and again" She lays on that again word and we know it. And into a slower song. it starts slow but when we hear her sing the refrain, something like "one day if we're strong enough, maybe, we'll be able to rebuild the peaceful nation." It picks up force.
Now it's getting near the end and when the lights flash off briefly between songs everyone's worried it's already the encore. People seem to want to stay for a long time. She throws in some shout-outs to new york. She introduces her band including the competent bassist and guitarist on the right as her son. Everyone gives an extra cheer for Lenny Kaye. Patti is rushing around the stage as if to make sure she touches each and everyone in the audience before she goes. The last song is over too quickly, and the lights change. I say my good-byes to the people I met and we're released now into the hot August night out through the park into the streets and subways of New York City.
All the songs and everything are all mostly out of order.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Torrent Tracker Dodges Whiners
thepiratebay.org responds to various written threats including this response:
"As you might know American law is NOT applicable in Sweden. Even though USA seems to think, from time to time, that there is only one law, just as there is only on god. In your own law your courts claim only jurisdiction (under the "long arm statutes") over non-state residence only in certain cases. Namely when the "defendant" has minimum contacts in the state where the suit was initiated. In the case Asahi Metal industries Co., Ltd v. Superior court of CA the U.S. Supreme court ruled that such "contacts" did not exist since the defendant had no offices, no agents, no employees or property and so on. Much like our case. The only thing connecting us with the US is the fact that our torrents are accessible worldwide. Not being an expert on American law (we have something in common. Isn't it fun how people from all over the world are connected through our own ignorance?) we still are of the opinion that there is no, excuse the language, chance in HELL that you will be able to initiate a suit in an US court against our us and have us summoned to the US.
That means that such a suit will have to be initiated in Sweden, under Swedish law. As to this date Swedish law does not forbid the activities relating to having bitorrent-tracker. Nor does any Swedish precedent exist that forbids it. We are confident in our assessment that our activities are perfectly legal and they will continue until such a time that the Swedish lawmaker changes the law.
It might be hard for you to get what I'm about to say through your thick John Wayne foreheads, so bear with me. The tracker provides the user only with .torrent files which contain no copyrighted data. The actual copyrighted material is to be found on the individual machines of our users, not on our servers. "
"As you might know American law is NOT applicable in Sweden. Even though USA seems to think, from time to time, that there is only one law, just as there is only on god. In your own law your courts claim only jurisdiction (under the "long arm statutes") over non-state residence only in certain cases. Namely when the "defendant" has minimum contacts in the state where the suit was initiated. In the case Asahi Metal industries Co., Ltd v. Superior court of CA the U.S. Supreme court ruled that such "contacts" did not exist since the defendant had no offices, no agents, no employees or property and so on. Much like our case. The only thing connecting us with the US is the fact that our torrents are accessible worldwide. Not being an expert on American law (we have something in common. Isn't it fun how people from all over the world are connected through our own ignorance?) we still are of the opinion that there is no, excuse the language, chance in HELL that you will be able to initiate a suit in an US court against our us and have us summoned to the US.
That means that such a suit will have to be initiated in Sweden, under Swedish law. As to this date Swedish law does not forbid the activities relating to having bitorrent-tracker. Nor does any Swedish precedent exist that forbids it. We are confident in our assessment that our activities are perfectly legal and they will continue until such a time that the Swedish lawmaker changes the law.
It might be hard for you to get what I'm about to say through your thick John Wayne foreheads, so bear with me. The tracker provides the user only with .torrent files which contain no copyrighted data. The actual copyrighted material is to be found on the individual machines of our users, not on our servers. "
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Faux Faulkner Winner 2005
"Down the hall, under the chandelier, I could see them talking. They were walking toward me and Dick s face was white, and he stopped and gave a piece of paper to Rummy, and Rummy looked at the piece of paper and shook his head. He gave the paper back to Dick and Dick shook his head. They disappeared and then they were standing right next to me."
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
We’re not Afraid!
the bombers wish to strike fear in the hearts of londoners & the world. and this site is a scrapbook of one screen graphic designs letting them know it didn't work. it's high on the list of the the sites of the moment
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Generation Chickenhawk
It's not hard to say what's gone wrong in young conservative minds when they speak of defending high ideals and liberating the opressed: they know little of costs and penalties. Where there is death and protracted misery; there is know way they could know it. They see only the shrouds of glory.
"And they are beating back the Iraqi insurgency when they demand that their university budget more money toward bringing conservative speakers (like Horowitz) to campus, which he also advised them to do. This equation holds a special appeal among College Republicans who are loath to risk their lives on the battlefield but don't want to feel that they are missing the action either."
"And they are beating back the Iraqi insurgency when they demand that their university budget more money toward bringing conservative speakers (like Horowitz) to campus, which he also advised them to do. This equation holds a special appeal among College Republicans who are loath to risk their lives on the battlefield but don't want to feel that they are missing the action either."
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