Showing posts with label Steven Pinker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Steven Pinker. Show all posts

Monday, 23 January 2012

Pinker, Paler, Soldier, Spy

I've written about something for a change!

***


Steven Pinker - The Better Angels of Our Nature


This isn't exactly a book review. It isn't part of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey either (which seems to be lying dormant at the moment). I just happened to finish this yesterday and felt like writing about it for the following reasons:

1) It's long, and so I feel like I've achieved something for once
2) Writing about it will help me remember things
3) It's an interesting and important subject
4) I want you to think that I'm clever (though as you'll discover, I will probably demonstrate the opposite)

I'll try not to summarise the book in too much detail, as I'll probably mess things up, and will have Pinker on the phone saying "No, no, no, you've misunderstood everything and you have a ridiculous face. Even evolution can't explain THAT."

But the basic premise is that violence in the world has greatly declined, both in the long and short term.

Despite our notions of the modern world as an very violent place, and our romantic ideas of the past as being an Eden-like wonderland where you can leave your kids unlocked and buy some corn from an elf, the present day is (proportionally) the safest time to be alive.

He looks at many types of violence - war, murder, rape, torture, pushing a friend's face into a gorse bush, animal cruelty, Swingball - and has shown that they have all greatly declined.

Pinker also demonstrates that the commonly accepted belief that the 20th century is the most violent is probably untrue (proportional to population), and that the period since the end of the Second World War has been one of unprecedented peace.

To explain these ideas, Pinker looks at violence through a number of lenses: historical, political, philosophical, economic, biological, psychological, neuroscientific and probably some kind of futuristic space glasses. The discussion is supported by a wide range of statistical evidence. There are lots of graphs and tables, useful case studies and interesting experiments.

Pinker identifies the nature of the change and what has caused it, both in terms of social and political movements, morality and the functioning of the human brain.

So it's a pretty broad remit. Some of the smallest chapter sub-sections could have justified entire books. But Pinker writes fluidly and interestingly, and explains his findings well. Even I, with an attention span shorter than the word 'than', found it easy to follow.

I enjoyed it, and was convinced by most of what he had to say. Violence has declined. Put that in your pipe and smoke it humanely.

But I don't want to jump on his bandwagon just yet. I suspect that I could be easily bamboozled by a clever writer. Though I "studied" philosophy, politics and economics at university, and so should be used to looking at academic writing in a critical way, it's been ages since I had to do it. I reckon an eloquent person could write about why pigs invented the Super Bowl, and I'd believe them.

I don't want to be a chump. I don't want someone to suddenly bring up some point that contradicts his entire thesis, so I'm going to engage my critical faculties.

I've read a bit of commentary and criticism of the book. I've thought hard about the implications of his writing. I've sat in a dark room stroking my chin and folding paper into the shape of a light bulb.

I wear a neon badge on my lapel, and that badge says: RIGOROUS.

Luckily I didn't have to think too far outside the box, because The Guardian did a whole feature on the book, including some reviews and discussions. One review is particularly scathing, though amusingly, the columnist hasn't even read the book, and tries to judge it based on the index. It's an interesting technique. Like judging it based on the font. But as with most of the other criticisms I've seen of the book, the concerns raised seem to be dealt with, in depth, in the book itself.

There are lots of reader comments on these pieces, offering their usual mix of prejudice, self-importance and the simultaneous missing of dozens of points. It's always a mistake to read these comments, I know. There's a curious mindset in some of these people that makes them see changing your mind as a terrible sin. Well, not changing your mind. Changing your mind is a noble crusade. It's changing their mind that's an unforgivable sin. It's a parade of snappy, snide, self-congratulatory hate speech. My comments, on the other hand, are always gracious and productive.

Even given my low expectations, I was surprised at the conviction of so many people who hadn't read the book. They were sure they'd nailed a pithy refutation of the whole argument, even though Pinker had anticipated their glib idiocy and disproved it at length.

I've read several other reviews of the book. Most of them more reasonable than Captain Index. I wanted to be open to arguments against Pinker. I was on the look out for convincing counter-examples, and gaping holes in his argument. But I haven't found any of them yet. Most people who are critical of the book seem to dislike the implications of the central premise. But that doesn't mean that Pinker is necessarily wrong.

I think a lot of people have judged this book based on their preconceptions. And so have I. I'll look at these preconceptions first, and then identify some common objections. After which, I expect to receive my PhD.

What is it about claiming there's a decline in violence that people find so distasteful? No-one wants to admit that things are getting better.

Those on the right find the whole idea ridiculous. The world is clearly going to hell in a handbasket. There was a a vague golden age, not long ago, in which children did what they were told, old women could walk the streets at night, and you wouldn't say boo the goose. You'd call the goose "sir".

Now it's all violent video games and disrespect and suicide bombers performing their own one-woman plays, written with apostrophes in all the wrong places. The job of the conservative is to halt this terrible decline, by returning to nature and family values. The world was better in this non-specific past, even though similar conservatives were complaining about similar things for as long as we can remember.

So saying that violence is declining is anathema. They see violence everywhere, and will believe in this modern evil, no matter how many "facts" you throw at them.

Those on the left are similarly appalled by the idea that we live in a more peaceful world. Injustice is everywhere, people in the third world are suffering, capitalism is causing harm, the West is fighting immoral wars. If violence is declining, it doesn't help their campaigns. They see it as a type of blindness that encourages complacency, and lessens the need for change.

A lot of criticism I've read comes from this latter position. (I haven't read much right-wing reaction to the Pinker book. I doubt the Mail has discussed it in-depth, because it would involve reading a book.)

I've written before about how I hate this glory of the past, and the assumption that the current generation is going down the toilet. The current generation always thinks that theirs is the the most significant, that their young people are stupid and disrespectful, and that modern culture is rubbish. They've thought that for thousands of years, I reckon.

I was pleased to hear about this book, because it supports my view that the past was just as horrible as now, if not more so. I'm biased, then. I just read this because it agreed with me, and then patted myself on the back. It's always good to read a clever person corroborating your world view.

That's why I looked at the counter-arguments. I didn't want my preconceptions to colour my judgement. I want to feel legitimately smug. Blinkered smugness is no fun.
 
What I was mainly looking for was for clever people to tell me if anything was wrong with Pinker's statistical analysis. His graphs are all very convincing, and I don't really understand stats. I tend to assume that if they've been published, they'll probably be quite reliable. (I'm sure this is a dangerous assumption.) I was waiting to read that he's mislabelled the 'x' axis, or reported on a scientific trial done in another dimension. But I haven't seen any of that so far, so I think I'm reasonably safe to trust the numbers.

Pinker has answered a lot of possible objections in an FAQ here, so I won't go over too much of that.

Some of them are interesting, and I can see where they might be concerned. But some people are just idiots. You see things like:

"I read a news story yesterday about a boy killing bees with a hammer. How can Pinker say that violence is in decline?"

or

"My racist aunt is scared to leave the house. Call that peaceful?"

These people make my statistical analysis look like... uh... some kind of... good statistical analysis. (And make my comparisons seem devastatingly apt.) A single recent violent act will define the world. It's that same lack of proportion that leads people to claim that white middle-class men are the most oppressed group in the country, or that climate change is a myth because it's chilly today.

People tend to give their own experiences prominence. And if their own experiences involve watching the news, and TV shows about crime, and films in which a bomb has to defuse another bomb, they will probably have a warped idea of what's happening. But I don't believe my eyes. I believe a GRAPH.

More understandable criticism is of the implications of this study. If you want to discourage illegal wars, it's not useful to have someone talking about how relatively insignificant they are. People are dying and horrible things are happening.

Of course, Pinker thinks they're horrible too. He's not trying to say "Everything's OK! Everyone disband your charities and protest groups!". He's just trying to describe a change that has taken place.

Likewise, when people rightly campaign against the appalling conviction rates for rape, it doesn't help to have him talking about how incidents of rape have decreased.

He's just trying to present the facts. It's just that some of the facts are a little "off-message".

Fear is a tool that can be used by people of all political persuasions. We don't want society to rest on its laurels. We want new and better laurels, and better living standards for laurels (fewer people resting on them and for shorter hours).


But knowing what is contributing to long-term change isn't an impediment to change. If anything, knowing the progress we've made will encourage people. It will let them know that their campaigns, their protests, their policies, their witty placards, actually can do some good. It doesn't mean we have to accept illegal wars and massacres and Jeremy Kyle.

Yes, fear is a tool that people like to use. But the truth is a useful tool too, and one that is more difficult (though not impossible) to misuse.

One of the funniest criticisms of the decline of violence is that there could be a big war tomorrow that ruins Pinker's whole argument (and presumably his shirt). People seem to think he's arguing that everything is going to be fine, that war is over, that stabbings are going the way of the MiniDisc.

But of course, this isn't some teleological, utopian belief. He's not predicting that peace is inevitable, but reporting on the increase in peace that has already happened. He makes a point of stating that wars can still occur, and the conditions that have led to this state of peace could change.

You'd have to be pretty sure of yourself to write a book that guaranteed peace. If I was doing it, I'd hedge my bets. Even if it was just a tiny footnote at the end, which said: "Or, you know, maybe not".

Anyway, that's all the stuff I looked at. I'm reasonably happy with what I've read. If anyone has any convincing arguments that violence is not in decline, please let me know. I'd be happy to hear them. (And, no, punching me in the face is not an argument.)

I'm going to keep believing that I might be wrong, and that Pinker might be a charlatan with a ridiculous haircut. But until I read something conclusive, I'm going to go along with the conclusions in this book. I'd much rather be alive today than fifty years ago, a hundred years ago, or five thousand years ago (or any number of years in between, smart guy).

There. I hope I've shown how thoughtful I am, and that I know what the term 'teleological' means. Do you respect me more now? Does this make up for the months of nonsense, stupid dialogues and childlike drawings of ducks?

Or have I blundered all over the place? I might have made a foolish pig's ear of the whole thing. I might have angered and bored you.

Blogging is a subtle art.

I'll be back soon, with some more funny observations about water and scratching yourself.

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Straightforward


Let's forget all about that big event that just happened with the [CENSORED] and the [CENSORED] and the mulled [CENSORED].

I'm reclaiming the period between 27 and 30 December as a time for thinking about something else. I don't know what yet. Possibly brackets.

But first, I need to do the washing up. I'll let you know how it goes.

***

Straightforward.

At one point, I put a spoon in the little cutlery... holster... thing on the draining bored and it fell out. I then jammed it hard back in there, to send a message to any other rebel utensils that might have been watching.

We call it "washing up". The Americans (I believe) call it "washing the dishes".

[I don't know what the Canadians do. You can never tell with them. They're liable to celebrate Boxing Day on the one hand, and speak French with the other. You can speak French with your hand, if you make a fist and draw a beret and some onions on it.

I seem to be in an easily distractible mood.]

I don't know which washing term I prefer. "Washing the dishes" sounds much more specific. There's no way that can get misconstrued. No-one who's seen that on their chore rota would started scrubbing satellite dishes, or some other kind of dish (such as Soapdish with Kevin Kline).

"Washing up" could be anything. "Washing up" might refer to cleaning your hands before dinner. Or something to do with the Pixar film.

But perhaps it's better to be vague. If you "wash the dishes", you might ignore other items that don't seem to be dish-like. A spatula is not a dish. A mug is not a dish. An egg hammock is not a dish.

COME ON. THIS IS GOLD.

TEN MINUTES OF STAND-UP RIGHT HERE.

Everyone likes material on chores.

It's the first thing you learn in comedy school: CHORES = GUFFAWS.

***

Mood

Erratic

(I'm going to stop using these prompts in the new year. They are inhibiting my flow. Think about how much longer that washing up bit could have gone on for!)

Listening to

I've been given some good music as a [CENSORED] present, and have bought some more today. I heard this yesterday, and enjoyed it.


Reading

More Pinker. Did you know: more people were killed in Washington DC last year than weren't?

***

In fact: FORGET IT. I'm bored of being compelled to tell you all the things I'm listening to and smelling. (I reserve the right to tell you those things in my next post)

Let's get unfettered! I could go anywhere! I could be anyone!

I could tell you about the time I went coconut shy-diving.

Everyone should do it once before (or after) they die. Here's how it works:

Instead of an aeroplane, you jump out of a big paper cake. Instead of a parachute, you're wearing nothing whatsoever. And instead of jumping into the sky, you jump into a coconut shy.

Do it suddenly. You may find that it's painful (what with the hard coconuts and the nudity and all), and that you might ruin the days of many children, but the adrenaline rush is off the scale.

Remember: this must be done at a public carnival, fair, fayre, or "amusing park". Doing it at a private coconut shy is no fun.

Whilst you're there, you might also want to play chicken with the ghost train.

You see? Anywhere!

I never wear pink in case I start bleeding and it clashes.

You see?

I just tweeted that. I don't care. I'm a wild man. I'm a wild card. Admittedly, I don't know how to drive and I've never had cocaine and I'm too afraid of people to even answer my own phone. But still!

WILD!

Like a wild rabbit!

Look how wild it is!

No-one tells that rabbit what to do. That rabbit could be in the rabbit version of Easy Rider.

(Do your own Dennis Hopper joke. I'm too wild right now.)

***

Whew.

That was tiring. All of those exclamation marks have left me feeling quite worn out.

I haven't had anything to eat yet today. No rabbit; no nothing.

I should probably have something to eat.

I'll have something to eat. I'll let you know how it goes.

***

Straightforward.

I had two toasted pieces of Tesco Finest Farmhouse Multigrain Batch, beneath Tesco Olive Spread, beneath Squeezy Marmite.

Two points of interest there:

1) I saw a stain on the floor whilst the bread was mid-toasting. I managed to scrub it and dry it before the bread popped up.

2) I just went to make sure I had the exact names of the items correct. I had to get up. I was dead-set on getting it right. Even though no-one could possibly care. Even if they did care, they'd have no way of checking I was telling the truth, unless they broke in here, today, and checked the cupboards. I'm an idiot.


If I'm honest, there was probably too much Marmite on there.

Now I'm thirsty.

I hate it when people begin sentences "If I'm honest...".

I mean, you should probably be honest. I understand if you can't be. And if you have to keep something from me (perhaps you're having an affair (or an affayre) with my biggest rival from fencing college), begin your sentence with "To be honest...".

That's fine. You're indicating your honesty.

"If I'm honest..." suggests that even you don't know whether or not you're telling the truth. In which case, why bring honesty into it? You don't know. Leave it ambiguous. Or come clean with your uncertainty.

"To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm honest. I think."

COME ON. THIS COULD BE MY SECOND ENCORE.

I should probably leave you to be alone with your thoughts now.

I'm going to get a drink.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Friday, 23 December 2011

Loud


It's my last day at work, no-one is here, I haven't had an email all day, so I'm writing this.

And if the Big Shots up at Head Office don't like it, then... I'll never do it again. Sorry, Big Shots.

I don't think we have any Big Shots. Or a Head Office. Even if we did, I doubt they'd read this blog.

If they did read this blog, I probably would have been fired some time ago.

Things have slowed to a crawl here at Badger Towers (that's where I work). I feel like the whole world is grinding to a stop; a clockwork machine bleeding out its last bit of momentum, waiting for a rejuvenating wind on New Year's Eve.

That's 'wind' as in 'winding a clock', not 'wind' as in 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley".

I don't know what a rejuvenating wind would be, if it was the latter. Some sort of Red Bull guff bubbling out of the fountain of youth.

There was a loud party in the flat below ours last night. It went on until 1am, which isn't that late I suppose. But still: I hope everyone who attended that party dies of boat cancer.

The bass was thumping, the idiots were yelping and chanting and chattering, the floor was shaking, and my blood pressure was rising.

I hate people who are that inconsiderate. If you live in a block of flats, you must realise that other people live there. It's not just a massive attic.

There are families that live in our building - and children don't enjoy noise at that time unless they're making it themselves.

The thing is, I can understand a few cunts. (And excuse my language, but I feel it's justified) There's bound to be a few horrible individuals with no empathy and no notion of that other people even exist. But there must have been at least one person at the party who thought "hey guys, maybe we should turn it down a bit".

If they did think that, they didn't say it. Cowards.

Cowards like me. I also didn't say anything. Lucy was brave though, and went down to get them to shut their window. (Yes, the window was wide open, letting noise and toxic fucking twat-gas out into the night air) They did shut the window, but the obnoxiousness still seeped through the floor.

In situations like this, I sit, seething, stressed out, unable to relax. I resent that they invade my private life. I resent that they haven't considered the consequences of their actions.

Then I start to fantasise. About what I'd like to do. Smashing the stereo with a baseball bat is a good one. Or waking them up early the following morning.

I thought about setting fire to their flat and burning them all alive. But, as we live above them, that would probably be self-defeating. We'd find ourselves the victims of our own diabolical plan, and would be smelling corpse-smoke for a week.

Yesterday, I thought of an amusing (and harmless) alternative. I thought it would be funny if I wrote a blog post about how despicable they are, and then posted the URL through their letterbox. I think it would confuse them. But it might be fun if they made it here and read about themselves and my wishes for their pain.

I might even gain some regular readers. They'd come for the death threats, but stay for the wordplay and sideways look at modern life.

But, as always, my anger has been quashed by a night's sleep, and I've become sensible again. It was only one night; it's not a regular thing. It was probably just a Christmas party. And we all make mistakes.

So I don't think I'll post a link to this through their letterbox. Or maybe I will.

I'll tell you what - if they have another party tonight, I'm going to post it. It will be written with poisoned ink, on the skin of their closest family member. That will teach them to be unreasonable.

Mood

Magnanimous

Listening to

This came up on shuffle yesterday. I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure why, how or if it exists.


Reading

Pinker on the decline of violence again. Did you know: you're more likely to be raped by Mighty Mouse than stabbed by a teenager?

I might have remembered that wrong - I was slightly skimming.

(I don't like to use rape as a comedy concept, but it popped into my head. In relation to Mighty Mouse, I think it's OK. Also, there's this disclaimer. I'm not a bad guy. Honest.)

Watching

Batman: The Brave and the Bold

It's a cartoon that revels in the cheesy, camp side of the Caped Crusader (in contrast to more serious modern interpretations). There's lots of fun to be had - many in-jokes, and some nice comic re-imaginings of well-known characters (especially John "Bender" DiMaggio's hilarious Aquaman).

This episode features a villain called The Music Meister (voiced by Neil Patrick Harris), who forces the heroes to sing with his special powers. Pretty wacky stuff, but lots of fun.


Mayhem of the Music Meister! [Part3] by notpsychopirate

(Hey, that description sounded quiet serious, didn't it? Like something a proper blogger would write. It's nice for a change of pace, but I prefer jokes that go nowhere, and endless parentheses.)

Parlaying

Some... I don't know... something to do with gambling?

Eating

Three sausages, a hard boiled egg and some carrots. All smothered in thousand island dressing.

What?

Drinking

Delicious water. Mmm.

FACT: Human beings are made up of 90% deliciousness.

***

Happy Boxing Day Eve Eve Eve, everyone. I hope Santa brings you everything you want and that Atnas (or "Reverse Santa") manages to hoard loads of presents for his evles to disassemble.

You look fantastic in that skirt.

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

Twice Shy


I'm shy.

I've been shy for as long as I can remember. It's possible that I wasn't shy as a young child. Most babies aren't shy. They cry. They crave attention. They're pompous and needy. So I was probably like that.

But I got shy. I stayed shy.

I don't know why.

My parents aren't particularly shy. I used to think that was because they were adults, and that no adults were shy. But I am now an adult. There's no getting around it. And I'm shy.

My shyness waxes and wanes, I think. You can condition yourself to be less shy by spending more time with people. But the underlying shyness remains. I'm terrible at meeting new people. I give off an awkward energy that makes everyone else uncomfortable.

Unless I'm drunk. Alcohol dampens my shyness. Unless I'm just too drunk to notice it.

That's probably why I don't drink. I need my shyness. It's like a comfort blanket. In an uncertain world, it's good to hold onto something concrete, even if the concrete thing is a statue of me not knowing whether or not to hug a friend.

I think shyness is a genuine psychological condition. But I'm not sure, because I've never had the guts to turn up to any shy support group meetings. It would be awkward. We'd all just sit there for fifty minutes, wondering if we should introduce ourselves, then go home.

Mood

Shy. One of the lesser-recognised no-vowel words. The 'y' is the supply teacher of vowels - stepping in to take over when one of the main vowels is busy.

The 'y' wasn't formally trained in vowelling - but when push comes to shove, and the 'u' is in 'push', and the 'o' and the 'e' are in 'shove' and the 'a' is in 'and', and the 'i' is too egocentric to turn up, you have to call on the 'y'.

The 'y' is a utility player. The Phil Neville of letters.

Sometimes, I'm sure the 'y' questions itself. "Why?", it might ask. "Why not?", it may answer, with a reluctant 'o'.

Listening to



Quite often, I listen to a Frank Black song and wonder why he's not more popular. I think he's probably too prolific. A constant stream of genius is difficult to take on board. The spectacular becomes mundane. He releases albums all the time - always of a high standard.

What's that?

There's an analogy to be made between his output and this blog?

We are both so prolific - him with his albums, me with my hundreds of blog posts - that it's like drowning our audience in treacle and beauty and money?

We should both be much more famous, laden with awards, and respected by the entire planet?

I don't know if I agree with that.

I don't know. I can sort-of see what you're getting at. It does make sense. It...

Yes.

I agree.

We are both geniuses.

And yes, I am even geniuser than him.

...

I'm shy, by the way. I don't know if I mentioned that.


Reading

More Pinker.

People under state control are less likely to die than hunter/gatherers. I think it's because that term is cumbersome. Hunter/gatherers. You don't want a slash in your occupation (unless you're a large-hatted guitarist).

They should combine the terms. Huntatherers. That's much better.

The olden days people would have been less likely to bludgeon their fellow man if they were all huntatherers.

Though perhaps warfare would emerge between the huntatherers and the gunters.

I hate the gunters.

Watching

We watched The Dark Knight again yesterday, this time on Blu-ray. It looked great. I'm still not 100% sold on it, but am probably 96% sold, which is pretty good.

Also, I watched Blackburn vs Bolton. I have nothing interesting to say about that. I wasn't even going to bring it up, but I thought it might be fun as a challenge.

Can I say something interesting about a football match, when a large proportion of my readership don't care about football, and I have no particular interest in either team?

Can I?

No. Not today. But the abbreviated team names did make me think of the Marvel character Black Bolt.


Black Bolt can't speak, because his voice is powerful enough to destroy mountains. Which is cool.

'Black Bolt' is short for 'Blackagar Boltagon'. Which is not.

I might call my son Blackagar.

Blackagar Fung.

They can call him Black Fu for short, though he'll have to learn a racist martial art.

Playing

The Highlander in a confusing nativity play.

Eating

Tenderstem broccoli dipped in Moroccan-topped houmous. Because I worry that I'm not middle class enough.

And some supermarket pepperoni pizza. Because I don't worry that.

Drinking

Jasmine tea.

There's nothing funny about that, but I always tell the truth.

***

What have we learned today?

Firstly, that I'm shy.

Secondly, that I'm arrogant.

Thirdly, that Boltagon is a common surname.

Fourthly, that I always tell the truth.

Fifthly, that I don't always tell the truth.

Remember: believe in yourself. You definitely exist. I've checked.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

Did you hear the one?


Let's get silly!

WhoooaaAAAHhhhh! I just slipped on a banana part!

No - don't put that there! *SMASH* My bust of Busta Rhymes!

*DING-DONG* Who could that be?

*CRACK* *PUNCH* Ohhhhhh, nooooo! It's an unexpected criminal!

***

Slapstick doesn't really work in blogs.

Mood

Neutral. This is the first of five days off work, and I'm feeling paralysed by possibility. What should I do? What shouldn't I do? Why shouldn't I?

I'm also worried that I might be blogging too much, with too little result(s). Am I diluting my brand? Do I have a brand?

I'd hate to think so.

Perhaps I'm too fixated on my post count. In the back of my mind, I'm considering the possibility of beating last year's number of blog posts. I did 138 in 2010. This is number 131 in 2011. It might be tight.

But no-one cares about that except me. I should be blogging less frequently, but thinking about it more. I'm sure I could come up with something well thought-out and consistently funny if I put my mind to it.

But (2) I suppose the haphazard approach has defined this blog. I don't want to change my tack now, do I?

I could try to set myself a goal for one serious, proper, considered post every two weeks or so. I'm sure everyone is eager to hear my views on the economy.

I wonder if I'm just treading water.

I certainly seem to be doing so on Twitter. After pathetically begging for more followers on my birthday, I still haven't reached 300. I seem to gain a few and lose a few every now and then. Perhaps I was just never meant to reach the big three-oh-oh.

This has been rather indulgent so far, hasn't it? I get like this every now and then.

People aren't interested in me; they're interested in the big laffs.

What do you call an iPod with three legs?
A TriPod

There you go. Taste those crumbs.

Of course, this is just the 'mood' section. I'm expected to be maudlin up here. But the sections below will be bulging with more gold than a conquistador's knapsack.

I hope you're wearing goggles, because you're about to laugh your eyes out.

Listening to

Christmas music. Not much, but too much.

I don't know if I like Christmas music because I don't know if I like Christmas. Festive songs have no value of their own. They're avatars. Cyphers. Other words that probably don't mean that.

If you like Xmas (that's right: Xmas), the songs remind you of the pleasure of family and good food and childhood excitement. If you don't like Xmas, the songs remind you of the displeasure of family and disgusting food and childhood excrement.

I'm undecided about all of it. Which probably adds to my neutral mood. I don't like feeling neutral. It's unsettling. I feel bad. Which means I don't feel neutral any more. Which means I feel good. Which cancels out the bad, making me feel neutral again. And so on.

This hasn't been as funny as I'd hoped. So let's do some hilarious festive jokes!

*

What do you call a snowman with a mince pie in his mouth?
A clever solution to dwindling food storage space

*

Santa (peering out of the window): Looks like rain, dear.
Mrs Claus: Of course! They pull your sleigh!
Santa: What?
Mrs Claus: They pull your sleigh!
Santa: Yes, I heard you. I just wondered what you meant.
Mrs Claus: I... I just meant...
Santa: What? WHAT?
Rudolph: STOP FIGHTING. IT'S CHRISTMAS.

*

What does Lou Reed want for Christmas?
Heroin.

*

Did you hear the one about the man who looked like a Christmas pudding? Someone covered him in brandy and lit him on fire. To save face, he claimed it was a protest against the Chinese occupation of Tibet! Ironically, doctors were unable to save his face.

*

You see? Laughter is the greatest gift of all.

Also, I've been listening to this:


Reading

The Better Angels of Our Nature by Steven Pinker

I got this for my birthday, and am really enjoying it. It's about how, despite a common belief to the contrary, violence of all kinds has decreased. I'm really interested in how people always view their own generation as the worst ever, and see the past as a golden age, so it's good to have some stats to pass this up.

Thanks, Pinker.

Here are some Steven Pinker jokes:

*

Due to his rosy complexion and graceful gait, Steven is known in some circles as The Panth Pinker.

*

Before Steven came along, the patron saint of linguists was St Pink. (Now it's St Even Pinker. Get it?)

*

Knock-knock
Who's there?
Steven Pinker
Steven Pinker who?
What?
Steven Pinker who?
No. That's it. That's my full name.
Steven Pinker who?
I just told you...
Rudolph: STOP FIGHTING. IT'S CHRISTMAS.

*

Is it possible to die of being too prolific? If so, I'd better get my affairs in order.

Watching

Fist of Fun

I ordered this from Go Faster Stripe, which is an independent comedy DVD shop. I've bought quite a lot of stuff from them before, and they're great. This is their biggest venture: paying a lot of money to distribute Stewart Lee and Richard Herring's cult 90s sketch show, because the BBC didn't want to.

The package has a ridiculous amount of extras, including commentaries, bonus shows and the live studio rushes.

I never watched FOF when it was on (I only leapt on the Lee and Herring bandwagon with TMWRNJ), so it's been lots of fun to finally see all these in full.

I haven't watched enough to give a full review, so here are some jokes about Lee and Herring and fists and fun.

*

Did you hear about the man who had a fish in his ear? He was hard of hearing. Also, the fish was a herring.

*

What's the difference between Bruce Lee and Sara Lee? One of them ices cakes, and the other one cakes ices!
(To "cake an ice" is kung fu slang for kicking a bit of wood)

*

Knock-knock (the knock was made by a clenched fist)
Who's there?
Steven Pinker.
Steven Pinker who?
Look, we've been through this...
I know - but I find it fun.
Rudolph: THIS IS NO FUN

*

Of course, Pinker doesn't believe in Rudolph. That's an extra layer of comedy.

Playing

With a spinning top. It's the best spinning top I've ever spun. I might write a whole blog post about it. It's amazing. I don't do anything else.

*

Did you hear the one about the man (who might have been Steven Pinker, but it's not important for the joke) who accidentally sat on a spinning top?
He got a spinning bottom!

*

Ahahaha. I'm proud of EVERY WORD OF THIS.

Eating

A wholemeal roll.

*

Did you hear about the gymnast who used krill instead of a gym mat?
He was the expert at the WHALEMEAL ROLL.

(Whales eat krill)
(Gymnasts roll)

*


The gravity in my black hole-meal roll is so strong that even light spread can't escape.

*

Still going well!

Drinking

Orange juice

*

Knock-knock
*SHOTGUN BLAST*
Now you're Steven REDDER. Because of the blood.
Rudolph: *sniff* Just like my nose.
Fish-Ear Man: Pardon?

***

This has been an excellent use of my time. And yours.

I'll give you until the count of three to get off my property. But not now. I've forgotten where I keep my numbers.

Thursday, 10 November 2011

Margarine


Keep your hair on!

Not forever. You might want to embalden yourself later in life. You don't want to be ostracised for having lustrous locks. That's how Steven Pinker died.

I'm going to kick things into high gear by collecting some of my recent tweets. You might remember this approach from all the other times I've done it. If you click on the 'Tweets' label at the bottom of this post, you can see some more.

Though I wouldn't advise reading more than one of these posts in a single sitting. It's a bit intense. Like snorting Coco Pops. They turn the brain brown.

This introduction has been all over the place. But I don't want to stay on one topic for too long. I'm like a polar bear, travelling across the melting sea-ice. If I stay on a subject too long, I'll fall into the sea and be eaten by David Attenborough.

I'll tell you what: I'll do my tweet copying now, and if I still feel like rambling, I'll do so on the other side. Deal? Great.

Take a deep breath, because it's time for another edition of:

Oh hang on a minute. Twitter is over capacity, so I can't see my tweets! Jobs again!

How long will it take them to fix it? I haven't got all night.

I wonder what's caused the rush. Perhaps people are talking about the new Gervais and Merchant sitcom Life's Too Short. It's the defining cultural event of a generation.

I thought it was quite good. Warwick Davis was funny, doing a typically Brenty character. My mind isn't blown, but that's probably for the best. I've just washed this hoodie.

Oh, it's fixed again. That means it's time for another edition of:

Life's Too Long

***

There was an old woman who swallowed Jeff Goldblum. I don't know why (but I have my suspicions).

***
It was always weird at school when you met someone with the same name, parents and body as you.

***
Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news? The bad news is you're now deaf. The good news is you're unable to hear the bad news.

[Paul/Editor's Note - is this offensive? Probably. And not that funny. But still - here it is.]

***
Naked skeletons are scary.

***
Penalty port gets better with age, like a fine wine.

***
You should always bend your knees before lifting your knees.

***
Relaxing evening in last night. I've got a hangunder.

***
LUCY'S MISHEARD LYRICS PART 1: She thought the Beatles song Lady Madonna was actually "Knee-Deep in Doughnuts". It fits perfectly. Try it.

***
LUCY'S MISHEARD LYRICS PART 2: She thought the chorus to TLC song Waterfalls was "Go, Go, Jason Waterfalls!" I wish it was.

***
There's nothing cooler than sunglasses covered in tiny Fonzes. I asked an Eskimo and he made an agreement face.

***
Whenever the printer runs out of paper, I rush to refill it like it's a baby bird. I then regurgitate pulp into its cheeping tray.

***
The name 'Kev' is short for instance.

***
I'm going to make myself scarce on toast.

***
Some confused trick-or-treaters just housed my egg.

***
Subordinate ghosts carry their deputy head under their arm.

***
I'm going to wear a sheet over my head for Halloween. My costume is TERRIFYING MATTRESS.

***
A duvet is just a big flat pillow. SORRY FOR BLOWING YOUR MIND.

***
I like a girl with an equal number of freckles and Fraggles.

***
This isn't east to admit, but I need to tell someone. For the past few years, I've been writing a lazy 5 that looks like an S.

***
I sometimes write notes for tweets/stand-up on my phone's Drafts section. But I then forget what they mean. I rediscovered a few today.

***
If you have any idea where I was going with the following notes, please let me know. We can split the profits 60/40.

***
JOKE NOTE 1: "Fly.swatter. How much is it? 7.99, but that'll last you forever."

***
JOKE NOTE 2: "The power of love killed the cat." (I think this might be a Huey Lewis thing)

***
JOKE NOTE 3: "Cool dry place, art under 19."

***
JOKE NOTE 4: "Thief nod, attractive genetics, green lights. Top dog sketch."

***
I'm angry with all of you for not killing me yet.

***
Goo grief!

***
I dreamt about lying to you last night, and now it's come true.

***
My favourite episode of Friends is The One Where Joey Fingers a Snorkel.

***
The One With The Disconcerting Prosthesis.

***
The One Where The Guest Star Phones It In.

***
The best place to teach children about innards is the Disembowel Sanctuary. Kids really do need to know about innards.

***
People always talk about the blue whale's size, but they forget it's also the world's youngest helicopter pilot.

***
Only 20% of any given cobble is visible above the surface.

***

Most parents, when asked to rank the happiest moments of their lives, will choose "seeing a referee fall over" at number four.

***
Prince Charles has to release regal gasses every forty minutes or he'll die. That's why he's been fitted with an heir vent.

***
What's the optimum number for a gang of babies? Too few are ineffectual, but too many are unwieldy. That's why most gangs are non-baby.

***
Black Hawk Down is so true to life. Birds can be inarticulate when they're depressed

***
One man's burnt toast is another man's unintelligible playing card.

***
A seahorse walks into a bar. The barman phones the police to report some stolen legs.

***
"MEEEEEP.... MEEEEEP... MEEEEEP.... MEEEEEP..." - The Roadrunner is reversing.

***
If anxiousness was margarine, I'd be pretty slippery right now.

***
Film Pitch: TOM ORROW AND TOM ORROW AND TOM ORROW - Shakespearean cloning drama.

***
During WWII, rationing led to people incorporating tyres, spokes and cogs into their diets. As Vera Lynn sang: "Wheel Meat Again..."

***
I got the bus today, which reminded me why I should never get the bus. It exceeded the recommended capacity of people and murder fantasies.

***
Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit telling people I picked the wrong week to quit smoking. It's addictive. And I don't even smoke.

***
I'm worried that I hold my mug in an effeminate way. But it just fits so snugly in my vagina.

***
Had creamed leeks for lunch, and now I have that 'creamed leeks' song in my head. (#Creamed leeks, creamed leeks, Creamed leeks, creamed...

***
...leaks! Creamed leeks, creamed leeks, Creamed leeks, creamed leeks! Creamed leeks, creamed leeks, Creamed leeks, creamed leeks! LEEKS!#)

***
It's my favourite song about leeks, though the reference to leaks seems out of place.

***
Manacles is the Greek God of hand restraints.

***
Tpyos is the Greek God of minor linguistic mistakes.

***
I wish I could turn back the hands of Tim.

***
Just sent a penguin to the wrong hospital wing. AUKWARD!

***
I'm nestled in the branches of the sedentree.

***
Hands up if you're wearing anti-gravity mittens.

***
I'm finding it harder and harder to look at myself in the mirror. Should move that bookcase.

***
I'm outraged that police can get away with blinding protesters with a cartoon pig. They should ban the use of Peppa spray.

***
I know a guy who makes psychic predictions about cream cakes. He claims to be eclairvoyant.

***

My eyes were bigger than my stomach, so I only ate one.

***
Davey Hirst's baby's thirst took a turn for the worst. He burst. The roles were reversed when he was being nursed, but first things first.

***
I always say the first thing that comes into my head. BRAIN PIRATES!

***
If anyone has any leftovers, I'll be rightover.

***
I don't believe in mirror culls.

***

Since childhood, I've relied on those weird chocolate eggs with the toys in the middle. I've always depended on the strangeness of Kinders.

***
It's too hot in this office. People keep saying I should take off one of my fur coats, but WHY SHOULD I BE THE ONE TO MAKE THE SACRIFICE?

***
I've been practising semaphore with a scimitar and a samovar. Now my arms are tired.

***
"Zoo", "bee", "goal", "wicket" and "brother's" are the main types of keeper.

***
I can't believe I tried to climb into a petrol tank. I really made a fuel of myself.

***
That was terrible. But I've just had coffee, so blame Monsieur Caffeine (I drank it out of a tiny Louvre).

***
There's huge pressure on Captain Abacus. So many people are counting on him.

***
Mirror-you is more afraid of you than you are of him (or mirror-her).

***
They've just opened a new ape surgery. I attended the gibbon-cutting.

***
I've never punched someone playfully on the chin and said "Ya big lug!". A tragedy. I only hang around with tiny, chinless lugs.

***
"Who here adopted Thing from the Addams Family?" *raises hand*

***
Sometimes I worry that I'm never going to make it as an actress.

***
Created a character a while ago called Johnny Nosefaces. His catchphrase: "No-one knows faces like Johnny Nosefaces knows faces".

***
I tried to redress centuries of pirate injustice by standing on a parrot's shoulder. The funeral is this afternoon.

***
I tried making a cup of tea, but these so called 'Kettle Chips' don't hold any water.

***
"Bonfire night" is French for "Goodfire night".

***
Why is there only one question in the Fire Brigade entrance exam? That's the burning question.

***
I have sharp eyes. That's why I wear conical monocles.

***
If Einstein knew how easily I'm able to simultaneously regret two contradictory things, he'd probably drop his sandwich in shock.

***
It's not about the fireworks, but about the shape of the night sky around them.

***
Tonight is the worst night to own a skittish yet flammable dog.

***
I used to work at a Butterfly Farm. My proudest day was being named Employee of the Moth.

***
Everyone has one immovable bronze body hair. Try to find yours!

***
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? The small cowardly wolf.

***
If Sunday was a drink, calendars would be confusing.

***
If Sunday was a hat, it would be an increasingly heavy beret.

***
If Sunday was a table, it would be covered in saccharine place-mats and its legs would be made of dust.

***
It doesn't have to be the back; I take someone stabbing any part of my body as a betrayal.

***
How many clementines is too many to eat in one day? Because I've had enough to freak out five jugglers.

***
When I'm an old man, I'm going to look back on my life through my mirror glasses which they will have invented by then.

***
New Decaffeinated Red Bull gives you the wings of an emu.

***
I need to up my coffee regime, regimen, regiment, and regimenté. Some of my atoms are stationary. Can't be having that.

***
What's your favourite nursery rhyme? Mine is probably 'bursary'.

***
Lucy & I just came up with a 'Tales of the Unexpected'-style TV show called REALMS OF THE UPSETTING. Episode 1: A dog dies on its birthday.

***
For the softest, most vibrant wool, keep your sheep in a felt tip pen.

***
Film Pitch: WALTERFALLS - Touching drama about elderly vertigo-sufferer Walter Falls & his wife Victoria. Filmed in a barrel.

***
Quiz Show Pitch: THE LADDER - Ten people, twenty monkeys, one ladder. And some spikes. Serious consequences for a rung answer.

***
Sitcom Pitch: THAT SINKING FEELING - Plumber Simon N King makes a deal with the Devil (or "Sin King") to remove blockages. Exasperated wife.

***
Film Pitch: PLANNING PERMISSION - Tense action thriller about a shed/annexe. Denzel Washington doesn't know who to trust. Exasperated wife.
***

Christmas displays in shops don't get earlier every year. You're thinking of last Christmas.

***
I've been off-guard for most of today. I've tried to get en garde, but my sword has been confiscated.

***
I did a doodle of an 8. It looks just like one.

***
Sometimes I feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall, when actually it's the wall that's moving.

***
"Herbal Medicine Practitioner's". *sigh* I know it's pedantic, but I hate it when people use apothecaries in the wrong places.

***
You smell of toast.

***
I'm smiling on the inside. (Just infiltrated a clown college)

***
If I was stranded on a desert island, I'd probably spend the last of my phone battery tweeting coconut puns.

***
I covered my bathroom walls in bearskin and now I'm infertile. INFERTILE. IN FUR TILE. TILES LIKE A BATHROOM TILE. AND FUR.

***
I'd get my hair cut more often if barbers were called barbors. Who wouldn't want a trip to the barborshop? No-one with any sense.

***
When making a bowl of cereal, always pour the milk in AFTER the bowl has been designed. Before that, there simply isn't a bowl.

***

I take an instant dislike to someone if I see them burning a mouse.

***
I just took a shower. Because you can't spell 'nocturnal' without clean typing fingers.

***
During an average night's sleep, you'll crawl over the face of seven spiders.

***
The opposite of apposite is irrelevant.

***
I use custard instead of tar, tar instead of honey, and honey instead of custard. It's a viscous circle.

***
Don't take no for an answer. Unless the question is: "Complete the name of this early Bond film - Dr BLANK".

***
Ironically, to shackle a ram, you need to be quite organised.

[Paul/Editor's Note: Remember when I wrote about this?! It did get retweeted in the end, by @Monkey_Cam, though I suspect it was just because he read the blog. I still appreciate it though!]

***
Quiz Show Pitch: MINCE - Contestants eat, guess, swim through, and are, mince.

***
Film Pitch: SOLDIER OF FOUR TUNES - A musician with a limited repertoire is sent to Iraq for our benefit.

***

Sitcom Pitch: JACKETT POTATO - Millwall manager Kenny Jackett shares a flat with a potato. The potato isn't sentient. It just sits there.
***

Don't sell yourself shorts.

***
I haven't fallen down the stairs for ages. I don't think I'm getting any nimbler, so I can only assume stair design has improved.

***
I went on a spiritual E-treat to Ctrl+F myself.

***
Billy Wilder's been wilder than Gene Wilder. But Gene Wilder's been more silly than Billy Wilder.

***
You can identify an arrogant sparrow by its wing-mirrors.

***
The worst thing about stuffing envelopes is you get sage all over your Christmas cards.

***

My eyes feel like they're trying to commit harakiri (harakireye?) by impaling themselves on my brain stem. They're probably not though.

***
Apparently, a quip doesn't count if you introduce it first. "Hey everyone! Here's a quip you might find both relevant and snappy!"

***
"Shuffling the truffle" is my favourite euphemism for rearranging truffles.

***
Unamaniform. (I like a man in uniform)

***
I need to drink enough coffee to fuel my walk home, but not so much that I'll smash up a mosque on the way.

***
I think we should put the clocks back every week, faster and faster, until we're all just splattered against the past.

***
My ambition is to jump over my own head. Haven't quite managed it yet, but once I cleared my throat.

***
The man on the street is an idiot. I want to hear from the man under the street.

***
It's annoying when you're just about to sneeze, and someone suddenly accuses you of murder.

***
"The 'K' in 'OK' is silent." "Oh." "EXACTLY." - screenplay's coming along nicely.

***
How do you keep people on the Atkins diet off your property? Carbed-wire.

***
If you write "condensation" in condensation, you conjure up a really boring demon.

***

There we be.

I should have said earlier that I've started re-posting some of my older tweets. There's probably about fifteen of them up there.

I never repeat jokes usually, but I don't have a problem with it in principle. Some jokes were probably seen by no-one (especially if I tweeted them when I had about 16 followers).

Most of these re-posts are about two years old, so I think that's OK. If you remember any of these, you have been around for the long haul. I respect you. But you have to share the wealth. And the dearth.

Share the dearth.

I'm going to have that written on my exploding tombstone.