My favourite colour is green

Not red, blue or orange, but green. Green as in the philosophy exemplified by the recently coined movement bright green environmentalism. Green as in the subtle highlights of Chris Tindal's website/blog.

Oh yeah - I'm voting Green in the upcoming federal by-elections next Monday. Tindal has my vote not only because I've come to realize how ridiculously obvious his platform makes sense, but because he seems to present a certain air of confidence, humility and intelligence that I haven't seen in a federal election candidate.

Bob Rae exhibited that decades in the political establishment can result in a well-spoken, well-oiled political machine; Don Meredith's difficulty in distinguishing himself from Harper shed light on one failing of our parliamentary system; El-Farou Khaki proved that even with the right background and smarts, showmanship is the name of the game.

But Chris (who I had already seen in action at a University of Toronto young leaders debate for the Ontario Provincial election) presented his position and views clearly, threw in a self-deprecating remark or two, remained above the muck-slinging one might have expected in a political debate and earned the loudest applause from the crowd. At least that was my take...

One last thing: what is up with cantankerous old people? Maybe I'm not cynical enough, I haven't had my dreams shattered, or I don't rely on the government for many things, but the number of angry comments, venomous spittle and all manner of viciousness that was thrown at the Grits and Tories was shocking. A little bit of decorum and respect please...at least the candidates took it all in stride. Most of them were probably used to it by now.

So in closing: if you're in a riding that is up for a by-election on March 17, I encourage you to get out and vote. I'll probably have more thoughts on this wicked little game called politics as the year carries on, especially with the circus that's happening south of the border.

Stay tuned...

The Realist Manifesto: Part 1

The following is a Herculean attempt to understand humanity as it stands, and to chart out a path to save it. Over time I will add and adapt this philosophy, and I invite you to comment and critique it.


The Realist Manifesto
A pragmatic approach to the world

Marvin Gaye had it right when he crooned three simple words, in response to the growing anxiety American society faced in the early 1970s. "What's Going On?" can equally applied to the situation that we find ourselves in. Half of the world's population are under the age of 25 - that's 3.3 billion young men and women, nervous at what the future holds.

Like any sound philosophy, before we peer into the crystal ball, let me propose some undeniable truths:

1. At our current rate of consumption, the planet will not be able to sustain itself.
2. Information is the most prized and valued commodity.
3. Collaboration at all levels is necessary for success and shared prosperity.
4. Our diversity needs to be celebrated.

The origins of every problem plaguing humanity can be traced to the negation of at least one of these principles. Conflicts arise when basic needs and resources are unevenly distributed or hoarded by a select few; tension and strife are natural reactions when our appetites remain unsatisfied. Power traditionally rests in the hands who control information: chieftains, monarchs, governments; the temptation for abuse leads to corruption and distrust. Human beings are a social animal - we strive for interaction and are remorseful when left alone for too long; separation, isolation and denial fuel desire's flames. Distrust is bred on a diet of perceived differences - skin colour, religious beliefs, social status; when exploited, this fear drives man to commit atrocities on unimaginable scales.

Lack of resources : Power centres : Divisions : Fear : Destruction

This cycle of violence can only be sustained for so long.

We need to address the inequalities that arise from each stage. Doing so means wholly embracing each fundamental axiom I listed above. And like the phoenix rising from the ashes, an alternative holistic system will take shape, one that would hopefully result in a collective consciousness that has evolved beyond our current state.

You are cordially invited...

It seems somewhat appropriate that humankind's mortality and gluttony meet face to face in that last stronghold of brutality and barbarism in a civilized democracy – capital punishment. A final drag on a cigarette, as the shackled revolutionary defiantly stares down raised barrels, or the opportunity to etch one's place in the annals of history with a cutting barb à la Marx ("Go on, get out. Last words are for fools who haven't said enough.”), it's the final countdown to placate our ever-hungry never-satisfied appetites.

Whether or not you agree with the sanctioned extermination of a human being's life, we all havea certain morbid curiosity with what tastes grace the palates of death row inmates, and if this list is any indication, plain and simple seems to be the trend.

Which makes My Last Supper such an enlightening peek into the minds of celebrity chefs. Multi-course exotic feasts juxtaposed against mother's home cooked meals – it seems even these culinary masters are divergent when it comes to gustation – go figure. As one victim astutely points out, you really have only two choices: “to have a meal you've never had before, or to relive a meal you've already experienced.”

In his introduction, Anthony Bourdain sheds light on why the last supper (not that one!) enthrals the mind of the cuisin-artist:

“If cooking professionally is about control – about manipulating the people, the ingredients, and the strange, physical forces of the kitchen universe to do one's bidding; always anticipating, always preparing, always dominating one's environment – then eating well is about submission. About letting go.”

Extreme sports enthusiasts will say that's the reason they attempt insane skiing stunts at the top of mountains, flying over ancient Chinese battlements, or facing certain doom with a well pressed shirt. Death, that ultimate finality, the stamp on our passport that seals our fate, is the ultimate thrill ride. Or at least the threat of it...

For who among us are ready to take that final shuffle off this mortal coil? Suicidal readers need not raise your hands... Are you ready to look the grim reaper in the eye, take one sweet last breath and step into the light? Death is what defines our life – we are truly remembered by our peers when we are long gone, and they sit around a blazing fire, making toast in our honour. The king is dead, long live the king...

So what about my last supper? That menu has yet to be composed, but when the time comes, your place will be reserved.

Still don't know what I was waiting for...

Holy crap, last post was in the summer... how time flies when you're not paying attention, whether having fun or bored out of your mind or playing the fool and acting the goat.

Ziggy Stardust jammed it good, but alas I don't have my Weird and Gilly - I'm just a "writer" in my mind, burning holes to wile away time.

But every so often, the urge comes along, and shocks my system. Political assassinations, blood-drenched protestors and weird science whore themselves for my attention - time is a precious commodity, though last I checked, it doesn't cost $100/barrel.

Oh well.

A new year, a new start? We shall see...rules may be made to be broken...a testament to our restless lives

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.