Sunday, January 20, 2008
Does fast = smart?
I've had a few experiences in the high-flying, fast paced world of Sydney that have made me not only question Sydney's firmly held conviction of speed correlating with intelligence; its made me wonder whether the opposite is in fact true.
At the very least, the equation "fast = smart" has not only many counterexamples in practice, it is based on flawed thinking and occasional prejudice.
Many Sydney compatriots have mentioned to me how they find that Queenslanders sometimes talk very slowly - in particular those from country Queensland. This is usually the subject of healthy amusement, but occasionally expands into ignorance.
At a party just before Christmas, when I told a stranger I was originally from Brisbane he said (as if, quite sincerely, to console me) "Well, don't worry. You can't tell now".
Moi is not quite sure how to take such a remark.
The stranger then went on to tell a story of how he recently had a consult with a physio at hospital. The physio, by talking slowly and being incompetent, apparently revealed quite clearly he was a Queenslander.
I thought this was quite ridiculous on a couple of levels - firstly, I really doubt whether someone with a UQ qualification in physiotherapy is any less qualified (on average) than someone with a physio degree from anywhere else in Australia. Secondly,
the fact that someone talks slowly does not necessarily suggest incompetence.
There are many in Sydney who believe that the HSC offers a better qualification than the Queensland high-school system; having tutored hundreds of 1st year maths students over a couple of years I think they're roughly equally bad.
And while on gaydar, Sydney, the word "intelligent" appears more frequently on gay dating profiles, "intelligent" in this sense often means "has degree and thus a middle class income and thus socially acceptable" rather than someone who likes to use their brain just for the pleasure of it.
In the Scrabble national championships I played someone who talks slowly (and was from country Queensland) who proceeded to thrash the pants off me. One of my maths colleagues from Prague talks very slowly, and while this has a little to do with English not being his native tongue, it is also an innate quality which in fact
correlates with his amazing mathematical ingenuity.
Yes, mathematics is a science which is done slowly, sometimes at a snail's pace;
the best proof are the simplest ones and are discovered by divining our brains in a gentle and gradual fashion.
A contrapositive example to the above occurred at a party in Sydney I went to on the weekend. Here the guests changed topics with such speed and force (and I _mean_ force; it took about an hour to interrupt them to say I wanted to leave) that any analysis beyond the superficial of any topic was literally impossible.
"HaveyoureadanySomersetMaugham?Ilovehisbooksthey'rereallygreattheyweremyfavouritesat
schoolIcouldrereadthemagainandagainokaynexttopic...."
Yes, I maintain that speed, in its most extreme manifestation in conversation, belies any depth (and thus substance) whatsoever.
I've had a few experiences in the high-flying, fast paced world of Sydney that have made me not only question Sydney's firmly held conviction of speed correlating with intelligence; its made me wonder whether the opposite is in fact true.
At the very least, the equation "fast = smart" has not only many counterexamples in practice, it is based on flawed thinking and occasional prejudice.
Many Sydney compatriots have mentioned to me how they find that Queenslanders sometimes talk very slowly - in particular those from country Queensland. This is usually the subject of healthy amusement, but occasionally expands into ignorance.
At a party just before Christmas, when I told a stranger I was originally from Brisbane he said (as if, quite sincerely, to console me) "Well, don't worry. You can't tell now".
Moi is not quite sure how to take such a remark.
The stranger then went on to tell a story of how he recently had a consult with a physio at hospital. The physio, by talking slowly and being incompetent, apparently revealed quite clearly he was a Queenslander.
I thought this was quite ridiculous on a couple of levels - firstly, I really doubt whether someone with a UQ qualification in physiotherapy is any less qualified (on average) than someone with a physio degree from anywhere else in Australia. Secondly,
the fact that someone talks slowly does not necessarily suggest incompetence.
There are many in Sydney who believe that the HSC offers a better qualification than the Queensland high-school system; having tutored hundreds of 1st year maths students over a couple of years I think they're roughly equally bad.
And while on gaydar, Sydney, the word "intelligent" appears more frequently on gay dating profiles, "intelligent" in this sense often means "has degree and thus a middle class income and thus socially acceptable" rather than someone who likes to use their brain just for the pleasure of it.
In the Scrabble national championships I played someone who talks slowly (and was from country Queensland) who proceeded to thrash the pants off me. One of my maths colleagues from Prague talks very slowly, and while this has a little to do with English not being his native tongue, it is also an innate quality which in fact
correlates with his amazing mathematical ingenuity.
Yes, mathematics is a science which is done slowly, sometimes at a snail's pace;
the best proof are the simplest ones and are discovered by divining our brains in a gentle and gradual fashion.
A contrapositive example to the above occurred at a party in Sydney I went to on the weekend. Here the guests changed topics with such speed and force (and I _mean_ force; it took about an hour to interrupt them to say I wanted to leave) that any analysis beyond the superficial of any topic was literally impossible.
"HaveyoureadanySomersetMaugham?Ilovehisbooksthey'rereallygreattheyweremyfavouritesat
schoolIcouldrereadthemagainandagainokaynexttopic...."
Yes, I maintain that speed, in its most extreme manifestation in conversation, belies any depth (and thus substance) whatsoever.
Book review: Middlesex
Middlesex (Geoffrey Eugenides) is a novel over three generations, culminating in
the birth of intersex (but male-identified) Cal, who is raised as a girl before discovering he is actually a man during adolescence. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize, Middlesex is highly readable and engaging and Eugenides writes with an alert and flowing style.
While I'm glad I read this book, it is not without some glaring flaws, and I'm slightly surprised it got to the status of the Pulitzer. My main criticism is that the characters do not develop independently enough from the historical situations that they find themselves in; indeed the purpose of the narrative seems at times to be to highlight a series of colourful and intriguing historical events, rather than
to reflect on an underlying theme. Cal himself is strangely unformed and rarely rises above his own hermaphroditeness into a three-dimensional being.
I resented how the book at times resorted to sensationalism - particularly when Sourmelina's supposedly dead husband returns increduously as a black-power preacher in the sixties. (I almost stopped reading at this point). Cal's father's Milton's death is also handled hyperbolically; if either of these scenes were in a film version I would wince in my seat. Cal's contemporary on-going romance is also highly predictable.
The premise of Cal's hermaphroditeness being a result of incest was slightly dodgy - is being intersex necessarily a "birth defect" or is it in fact a society which cannot cope with anyone being neither male or female itself defective?
Eugenides uses the hermaphroditeness as a compelling dramatic tool, the build up to
Cal's adolescence is tense and her escape from genital mutilation surgery heroic.
Historical attitudes to science and the battle of nature versus nurture are themes
the book explores captivatingly.
I suspect, however, the Pulitzer status of this novel may have had something to do with the "bravery" of its theme rather than its literary merit.
Middlesex (Geoffrey Eugenides) is a novel over three generations, culminating in
the birth of intersex (but male-identified) Cal, who is raised as a girl before discovering he is actually a man during adolescence. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize, Middlesex is highly readable and engaging and Eugenides writes with an alert and flowing style.
While I'm glad I read this book, it is not without some glaring flaws, and I'm slightly surprised it got to the status of the Pulitzer. My main criticism is that the characters do not develop independently enough from the historical situations that they find themselves in; indeed the purpose of the narrative seems at times to be to highlight a series of colourful and intriguing historical events, rather than
to reflect on an underlying theme. Cal himself is strangely unformed and rarely rises above his own hermaphroditeness into a three-dimensional being.
I resented how the book at times resorted to sensationalism - particularly when Sourmelina's supposedly dead husband returns increduously as a black-power preacher in the sixties. (I almost stopped reading at this point). Cal's father's Milton's death is also handled hyperbolically; if either of these scenes were in a film version I would wince in my seat. Cal's contemporary on-going romance is also highly predictable.
The premise of Cal's hermaphroditeness being a result of incest was slightly dodgy - is being intersex necessarily a "birth defect" or is it in fact a society which cannot cope with anyone being neither male or female itself defective?
Eugenides uses the hermaphroditeness as a compelling dramatic tool, the build up to
Cal's adolescence is tense and her escape from genital mutilation surgery heroic.
Historical attitudes to science and the battle of nature versus nurture are themes
the book explores captivatingly.
I suspect, however, the Pulitzer status of this novel may have had something to do with the "bravery" of its theme rather than its literary merit.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Election 2007 - a drama of numbers
I have to admit I was absolutely glued to the screen
on Saturday night to watch the results for the federal
election come in. The same part of me that sometimes
watches "Deal or No Deal" made me watch the election
results; I just can't miss a numerical drama.
I started off with the ABC, hoping to see another
excellent performance from the undisputed queen of
stats Anthony Green. However the ABC just didn't have
its act together this year; for a good half an hour
the bottom of the TV screen incorrectly showed the
Libs/Nats in the lead. Moreover, each time some
results for a particular seat came on the screen,
Anthony would announce with nervous excitement that he
had even more up-to-date results on hand. A colleague
suggested that perhaps he should have scribbled them
on a paper and held them up to the TV screen.
The main strength of the ABC broadcast was seeing
Julia Gillard square off Nick Minchin with her
appealing mix of ferocity and warmth. But I'm a man of
numbers and I ended up on Channel 7, to my surprise,
where they were presented much better (although at
moments in quite a tabloid fashion with a "Tower of
Power").
Despite how awful Mel and Kochie usually are, it was
almost worth watching them just to see them ask a
subdued, white-faced Jackie Kelly, "So how do you
feel?" as it became obvious her former seat had fallen
to Labour. Also amusing was Jeff Kennett, replete with
a Hitler-esque moustache, desperately clinging to the
hope that postal votes would mean a great come-back
for John Howard.
And while the result wasn't exactly a nail-biter, it
was fascinating to see how deep the Labour victory
would go, and simply joyful to see Brough and then
Howard himself lose their seats.
I voted in Turnbull's elctorate, one of the few where
the swing towards Labour was minimal. This was despite
the margins of Wentworth being redrawn to make it one
of the gayest electorates in the country. Indeed, in
the run-up to the election, a desperate Turnbull put a
number of pleading ads in the gay press espousing his
pink credentials. He licked so much gay butt I'm
amazed he didn't come down with Shingella.
To my surprise, it worked, and while I didn't vote for
Turnbull, in a way I'm glad he got in, because it
looks like he could be the next leader of the
Liberals. While's he no angel, everything is relative,
and compared to Howard's abysmal legacy on social and
environmental issues, Turnbull looks if not good then
at least less worse. In opposition we could see things
like bipartisan action on climate change, gay rights,
and - who knows - a republic?
Though part of me again would be amused to see Abbott
as the opposition leader. Not for Abbott's stance on
any issue, but rather because Abbott is so obviously
incompetent and unable to hide his ugliness as a human
being he has little chance of ever becoming PM, which
would place the Liberals in the wilderness for some
time to come...
now that's a pleasant thought.
I have to admit I was absolutely glued to the screen
on Saturday night to watch the results for the federal
election come in. The same part of me that sometimes
watches "Deal or No Deal" made me watch the election
results; I just can't miss a numerical drama.
I started off with the ABC, hoping to see another
excellent performance from the undisputed queen of
stats Anthony Green. However the ABC just didn't have
its act together this year; for a good half an hour
the bottom of the TV screen incorrectly showed the
Libs/Nats in the lead. Moreover, each time some
results for a particular seat came on the screen,
Anthony would announce with nervous excitement that he
had even more up-to-date results on hand. A colleague
suggested that perhaps he should have scribbled them
on a paper and held them up to the TV screen.
The main strength of the ABC broadcast was seeing
Julia Gillard square off Nick Minchin with her
appealing mix of ferocity and warmth. But I'm a man of
numbers and I ended up on Channel 7, to my surprise,
where they were presented much better (although at
moments in quite a tabloid fashion with a "Tower of
Power").
Despite how awful Mel and Kochie usually are, it was
almost worth watching them just to see them ask a
subdued, white-faced Jackie Kelly, "So how do you
feel?" as it became obvious her former seat had fallen
to Labour. Also amusing was Jeff Kennett, replete with
a Hitler-esque moustache, desperately clinging to the
hope that postal votes would mean a great come-back
for John Howard.
And while the result wasn't exactly a nail-biter, it
was fascinating to see how deep the Labour victory
would go, and simply joyful to see Brough and then
Howard himself lose their seats.
I voted in Turnbull's elctorate, one of the few where
the swing towards Labour was minimal. This was despite
the margins of Wentworth being redrawn to make it one
of the gayest electorates in the country. Indeed, in
the run-up to the election, a desperate Turnbull put a
number of pleading ads in the gay press espousing his
pink credentials. He licked so much gay butt I'm
amazed he didn't come down with Shingella.
To my surprise, it worked, and while I didn't vote for
Turnbull, in a way I'm glad he got in, because it
looks like he could be the next leader of the
Liberals. While's he no angel, everything is relative,
and compared to Howard's abysmal legacy on social and
environmental issues, Turnbull looks if not good then
at least less worse. In opposition we could see things
like bipartisan action on climate change, gay rights,
and - who knows - a republic?
Though part of me again would be amused to see Abbott
as the opposition leader. Not for Abbott's stance on
any issue, but rather because Abbott is so obviously
incompetent and unable to hide his ugliness as a human
being he has little chance of ever becoming PM, which
would place the Liberals in the wilderness for some
time to come...
now that's a pleasant thought.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The funniest thing I said on the weekend was...
"If you don't stop that right now, Dr Nick will throw his Dr Pepper over your Dr Face!!"
"If you don't stop that right now, Dr Nick will throw his Dr Pepper over your Dr Face!!"
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
A traumatic year
Well, I must say 2007 has been a difficult year. I mean, I knew that eighties fashion would come back at some point, but I just wasn't emotionally prepared for it. I was "working the rack" (as David puts it) yesterday when I came across a polyester black shapeless top with a pattern of glowing mauve triangles. Worst still, last weekend when I was out west for a scrabble tournament, I was visually assaulted by a gang of rough westies in day-glo. I mean, how am I meant to stand out as gay?
Nick
Well, I must say 2007 has been a difficult year. I mean, I knew that eighties fashion would come back at some point, but I just wasn't emotionally prepared for it. I was "working the rack" (as David puts it) yesterday when I came across a polyester black shapeless top with a pattern of glowing mauve triangles. Worst still, last weekend when I was out west for a scrabble tournament, I was visually assaulted by a gang of rough westies in day-glo. I mean, how am I meant to stand out as gay?
Nick
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Fag #1: I heard you've just become a bottom. How did it go?
Fag #2: It was hard, but I got it in the end.
Fag #2: It was hard, but I got it in the end.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
A very funny book I've read recently is...
"Murder most Fab" by the early 90's (but still around!) comedian Julian Clary. Joel and I are going through a Julian Clary phase. We even youtubed him to find the infamous clip where he talked about fisting someone backstage at an British awards night. Good stuff.
"Murder most Fab" by the early 90's (but still around!) comedian Julian Clary. Joel and I are going through a Julian Clary phase. We even youtubed him to find the infamous clip where he talked about fisting someone backstage at an British awards night. Good stuff.
Nick makes the revelation
You know, if facebook has taught me something, its that I don't like most movies begin with the word "the". This includes: "The Forrest Gump", "The Star Wars Parts I, II and II", "The You've Got Mail", "The Independence Day" and "The Pan's Labyrinth".
You know, if facebook has taught me something, its that I don't like most movies begin with the word "the". This includes: "The Forrest Gump", "The Star Wars Parts I, II and II", "The You've Got Mail", "The Independence Day" and "The Pan's Labyrinth".
Monday, August 20, 2007
Obituary
My great uncle (or, as we called him, "gruncle") died a couple of weeks ago at age 89. Gruncle, as my grandma described him, was a bit of a "crank". He was very friendly when we were kids and used to hide Crunchie bars up his sleeves, which impressed us no end. However he didn't like us much as teenagers and when I last saw him (approx 15 years ago) he went on a very angry rant about rap music and how terrible it was, and how good Alan Jones is. This angry rant included an imitation of a rapper which was highly amusing.
Gruncle was a talented artist and sketched comic portraits of all my family. He loved going for walks and until he was 88 walked up and down Mt Cootha each day just for the sake of it. In WWII he was suspected of being a spy because he was always taking long walks by himself. Someone even tailed him for kilometres and kilometres along a railway track before realizing that gruncle wasn't meeting a foreign spy, he was just eccentric.
RIP Gruncle.
My great uncle (or, as we called him, "gruncle") died a couple of weeks ago at age 89. Gruncle, as my grandma described him, was a bit of a "crank". He was very friendly when we were kids and used to hide Crunchie bars up his sleeves, which impressed us no end. However he didn't like us much as teenagers and when I last saw him (approx 15 years ago) he went on a very angry rant about rap music and how terrible it was, and how good Alan Jones is. This angry rant included an imitation of a rapper which was highly amusing.
Gruncle was a talented artist and sketched comic portraits of all my family. He loved going for walks and until he was 88 walked up and down Mt Cootha each day just for the sake of it. In WWII he was suspected of being a spy because he was always taking long walks by himself. Someone even tailed him for kilometres and kilometres along a railway track before realizing that gruncle wasn't meeting a foreign spy, he was just eccentric.
RIP Gruncle.
I have nothing funny to say today, hence my post about Rudd. I will say this though: I've been sick as a fckn dog. I have had it all and from every orifice.
Rudd mud-slinging
okay, so Rudd has been busted for being drunk in a strip parlour. The question I think everybody's forgotten to ask though, is:
Did he inhale?
okay, so Rudd has been busted for being drunk in a strip parlour. The question I think everybody's forgotten to ask though, is:
Did he inhale?
