My distorted reality, Part 1

On the surface, video game enthusiasts, Monday morning quarterbacks, pop philosophers and quantum physicists may not have anything in common. However, once you peel back the superficiality of each label, we reveal a characteristic that infects every human being: overactive imaginations.

Consider Dr. Nick Bostrom's article “Are You Living In A Computer Simulation?” which examines the likelihood of the scenario popularly proposed by the Wachowski brothers. After computing the probabilities of various statements, Dr. Bostrom arrives at the conclusion that one of the following is true:

(1) The fraction of human-level civilizations that reach a posthuman stage is very close to zero
(2) The fraction of posthuman civilizations that are interested in running ancestor-simulations is very close to zero
(3) The fraction of all people with our kind of experiences that are living in a simulation is very close to one.

A neat argument but I was surprised by Bostrom's comment in The New York Times: “My gut feeling, and it’s nothing more than that,” he says, “is that there’s a 20 percent chance we’re living in a computer simulation.” Thanks to his bemused prediction, we are likely to remember Bostrom for posing an intriguing Gedankenexperiment – if we reach a point in history where Statement (3) comes to fruition, we'll merely chuckle and proclaim him to be a great thinker.

Not so for Rob Bryanton unfortunately. This musician-cum-philosopher has been ridiculed for his presumption that there are only 10 dimensions. While quantum mechanic string theory practitioners may gripe about Bryanton's faux-science, simplifying complex concepts without academic rigour, I think the real issue at hand seems to be the flashy animation he uses to explain his theory.

In a nutshell – they are jealous that he has been able to succinctly communicate his ideas. Thanks to the emotions of an exclusive clique of thinkers, the idea that the totality of all possible existences can be represented as a dot on the 10th dimension will probably never be taken seriously.

Shouldn't we praise thinking outside of the vat? Is that not what all intellectual discourse be about? Stay tuned for part 2 – where fictional characters come to life and human beings lose their individuality in the swimming pool of creativity.

Identity Crisis

There is a part of my being that roots for him every night. With bated breath, I join the throngs, eager to witness history in the making. Like horny high school sweethearts, we wonder if tonight be the night. But with the storm clouds of allegations swirling around his stature, he stands at the brink of greatness and infamy. Still, it would be sweet poetic justice if he's forever stuck at 754. No asterisk needed, just another footnote in the long history of the sport.

I'm now sleepwalking the silent streets, chemically intoxicated, but like an unfazed Horatio Caine, I survey the scene: larger-than-life creatures preen and prune themselves, birds of paradise caught in an urban jungle. Hiding behind vapid masks and fumes of machismo, they challenge me to refute their maxim: I think that I am, therefore I am.

The ghost of Descartes is gagging, but the words of Wilber peer through the ether. Our identity is constructed from four distinct and fundamental perspectives: interior, exterior, collective, individual. We are the product a bubbling mixture of images – either forced upon or gladly swallowed. We are a projecting species, not unlike Arctor's scramble suit.

Look in the mirror – do you recognize who you see? I touch the image before my eyes and flinch. Daltrey's primitive howl shatters my visage, and I won't be fooled again.

Alea jacta est

It's summertime, and while the living is easy, restlessness hangs in the air. Its muggy tendrils slither down throats, gently suffocating our collective psyche. In the land of make believe, boulevards of broken dreams bring me to a scorched and barren wasteland. My imagination raped and brown bunnies mocking, I struggle to comprehend this Inland Empire. A clever stratagem, shock and awe: on the battlefield, sheer dominance leaves combatants battered and bruised and always confused. Something is rotten in this state of hyper-reality...

Hush now, do you hear the siren's seductive call? Her symphony of destruction entices and enchants. Oh, to be Odysseus... satisfaction is risky business. Transfixed upon the why, I stand on the banks of the Rubicon and hesitate. Frozen in this moment, I'm reminded of a tautology from the good words of Melvin Kaminsky: Everything that happens now, is happening now. Time is never time at all, it keeps on slipping into the future.

I've been searching for truth and clarity, and all I see are the ripples I've caused.

But that's the whole point, n'est-ce pas? I wouldn't want to disappoint.

Reach out and touch me

That groan you just heard? Technologistas across the globe just collectively orgasmed. First the iPod, now the iPhone – Apple is proving once again that style and substance can go hand in hand like childhood sweethearts. Is it a phone, an MP3 player, a mobile office? Does it even matter? The thing looks fucking cool...

Welcome to the realm of the image: a land where the visual reigns supreme, where clothes make the man, where photoshopping is an accepted practice and where our eyeballs are bombarded with brilliant kaleidoscopes, fast cutaways and product placements. See me, buy me, be me.

Everything is presented visually – take a look at this “personal discovery tool.” Graphically presented for ease of use, the website encourages users to seek out new bands and films similar to their favourite artistes and auteurs. And while I may disagree with the dubious decision of delineating Pink Floyd as “similar” to Neil Young, what's fascinating is the ability to represent a concept that some are subconsciously aware of: the network. It shouldn't be a surprise anyone that networks are important to life. Career choices, wireless providers, CNN – all networks, all the time.

Life everything else that exists, networks are subject to change and evolution. Take the natural network that we were each bestowed with at birth – new synapses are created when reading the latest issue of the New Yorker and neurons are destroyed by the latest designer cocktail of drugs and alcohol. We construct social networks to mark our place in the world - “It's not who you are, it's who you know / Others' lives are the basis of your own” - making and breaking friendships when needed.

And the most important network? It's the one that you're using right now, allowing these words to be displayed on a computer screen miles and miles away, across this ever-shrinking world. Communication and transmission is the name of the game, especially in a place where rumours and hearsay run rampant, wilder than a stampede in the wild, wild west. Remember the “creator of the Internet"?

Six years later, Gore's back in the limelight, this time proselytizing a message of doom. Don't worry, I'm not about to shoot down the concept of global warming, or cynically comment that the environmental movement is being infected with Geldof-itis. But consider this: if you were stirred by An Inconvenient Truth to do your part, are you aware of the true costs of effective carbon emissions reduction?

There may be tough times ahead, but it's true we need to “work collectively and aggressively for bold new policies,” to share resources and strengths to overcome flaws and weaknesses. Like the latest gadgets from Jobs et al, the more people who have it, the more people will want it. As progressive thought becomes more en vogue, progressive policies will follow. A new way of life may be possible if we recognize that the world is a living network, and as individual nodes, its our duty to call for action, and the time is now.

Proletarier aller Länder, vereinigt euch, anyone?

Good, evil or ambivalent?

Thirty-three million people roared in unison as the country's collective heads swell with pride and hearts sent aflutter. Three straight gold medals at the World Junior Hockey Championships and once again Canadian wombs continue to assure our dominance at this elegant sport.

“Elegant?” one might ask. Consider the goalie's pinpoint hand-eye coordination needed to catch a puck hurtling at speeds of up to 100mph. Or the balance required to burst down the ice and stop on a dime, supported by only a thin steel blade. Basketball may have showboating slam-dunks, and soccer fancy footwork, but nothing quite compares to a dazzling deke. Pure poetry in motion.

“But, but, the violence!” you protest. No doubt there is a brutish element – we'll never forget The Bertuzzi Incident. And the fighting – the only professional team sport where fisticuffs is somewhat condoned. On any other playing field, players land in serious ca-ca, but in the rink, you get a 5-minute major penalty for dropping the gloves.

Like all organized sports, hockey is a perfect example of a moral absolutism in play – strict guidelines and appointed zebra-clad judges to call fair or foul. This particular ethical system succeeds not only because it is organized and happens within a contained environment, but mainly because when you step on the ice, you acknowledge said laws and acquiesce to the system.

(In the heyday of my career as a student of philosophy, my stock answer about my personal ethical system was that “Ethics is a sham.” To be honest, this frivolous response stemmed from the simple reason that I disliked my ethics classes. When pressed to elucidate, I would rely on two key weapons of mass distraction: Olympian language and convoluted logic. Usually sooner, but sometimes later, I would have confounded my opponent such that they forthwith declare to eschew abstract discussions...)

Unlike the world of sports where participants accept their lot, the game of life is a little different. Without a overarching moral scheme in place, humans will endlessly debate over what is good and evil, what one ought to do and what one ought not. In this empty void, many feel compelled to fill it with religion – as many as 75% of the world's population. Religion is rife with moral absolutism; the paramount example the Ten Commandments. Which George Carlin promptly shreds to pieces...a spectacle I had the pleasure of witnessing in Montreal.

So where does that leave us? No closer to the truth than before. Everyone makes their own choices and reacts to situations differently. Still, from the pulpit I preach this two-word maxim:

Be yourself.