Larva

I’m re-reading Thoreau’s Walden for my course; he describes how young insects tend to eat more than their adult counterparts then goes on to make a comparison:
bq. The gross feeder is a man in the larva state; and there are whole nations in that condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast abdomens betray them.

Reading Walden is a delight (though I had forgotten how Mr. Thoreau tends to ramble. Still, a delightful ramble). I’ve wondered how things would be different had people actually taken his words to heart or, were he writing today, what his advice would be per the situation we are in.

But, those thoughts are moot. I somehow doubt we are any better equipped to hear such words today than a century and a half ago. It is not the time or society that squelches wisdom—it’s the deafness of our own nature.

My hope is that some larva do become butterflies.

More Stuff

It’s Christmas shopping time and most everything is crap. Sorry, might as well say it; most of the stuff wrapped in boxes and mountains of paper is either poorly made or made for only a season of use. The electronic thing you buy will be obsolete before next year so you can buy another one. The toy is for 7-10 year olds; your nephew will be 11 next year and will want something else. Clothing might last a little longer but is subject to the whims of fashion.

I think, rather than enduring longer, most things seem to wear out faster (both in real terms and perception). The obvious examples are computers and digital [bleeping things]. A digital [bleeping thing] is priced low enough that, when it breaks, there is little sense in repairing it (often, by the time it does break, the manufacturer no longer services it anyway). It just gets pitched and a new one is purchased (though I would imagine there are millions of perfectly usable digital [bleeping things] sitting in closets worldwide; they have been replaced with newer better faster models). I have a decent digital [bleeping thing] from 2003. It will probably work for some time; however, should it break, there is no repairing it. Should I decide to purchase a new digital [bleeping thing], none of the accessories for this [bleeping thing] will work with the current equipment. A new purchase would mean starting from scratch. This [bleeping thing] was the price of a decent mechanical [clicking thing] several years ago; had I purchased a decent [clicking thing] in lieu of the [bleeping thing], it would still be repairable, the accessories would work with accessories now (and, no doubt, from the past), and the re-sale value would have held. (Granted there is a whole other discussion here on the cost of film and processing for the several thousand shots I’ve made with the [bleeping thing] vs. a [clicking thing]).

I do have a (way more than decent) 35mm camera. I can use lenses made from the past 50 years on it and can be reasonably sure lenses made in the future will still be compatible. It’s almost entirely mechanical and easy to service. Film, though one would think it’s about dead, keeps getting better every year—so the “sensor” in the camera gets upgraded with every new canister of film in the camera. The manufacturer has guaranteed parts and service for the current model for the next 30 years. Past models of this camera have actually increased in value. This is a made thing that will probably outlast me in usefulness; how many things do we seek that we can say this applies to?

What if, rather than aiming for the latest and shiniest thing, we carefully chose what is most needed and best made? If you are going to spend thousands of dollars over the next ten years on digital cameras, why not go ahead and buy a really good camera that will last a lifetime instead? If you wear out three pair of cheap shoes a year and hobble your feet in the process, why not spend what amounts to less money on good shoes that will last five times longer?

There is a current discussion on Worldchanging on design for 10,000 years. I can’t imagine making a coat that will last this long; however, we have to start thinking about the mounds of waste that represent our fickle wants and habits. Would it be so bad, when we go to buy a thing to think:

  1. Do I really need this thing; do I need it now?
  2. Do I need a new one of these?
  3. Is the use of this thing going to burden me with the need of other things (all the batteries, memory chips, software, fancy dress cases, and tinsel)?
  4. Is there an another way to do this with something that will last longer and cause less waste?
  5. Where did this thing come from and where is it eventually going? (Where will this thing be 100 years from now and will it be useful to anyone else then? This is, I think, an important point. If you now pick up something made 100 years ago I dare say, if it’s working, it will still do the thing it does in some useful manner. What will a 100 year old iPod do?)
  6. And…there is a question that keeps coming to my mind as I work through this master’s course…I’m starting to seriously ask how will this thing help me contribute in some positive way to society? Is the making and selling of this thing good for the future of the world? I don’t think that’s an idealist’s question; it is, in effect, the most practical question we can ask in our daily lives.

Sound and silence

I have never tolerated loud noise. As a child, I would cover my ears when someone was using a hammer or power tool; today I wear earplugs whilst using the vacuum. I’m just very sensitive to sound.

Urban environments are full of sound; they are not full of sound, of course, in the same sense that a forest is. The city is full of inescapable noise. This is mainly because cities have become places for cars to congregate and traverse, not places for people to live and walk about in. Pedestrians are usually pushed off to the side surrounding traffic and get secondary consideration.

The school is a good 45 minutes to an hour walk from my flat; I’ve been walking it often. However, unless I zigzag through back-streets (which I do sometimes), the most direct route is filled with traffic (though it’s a generally pleasant walk nonetheless). I wanted to listen to music or lectures on the way; but, unless I wear my big noise cancelling headphones (which are a bit silly looking on the street), there isn’t a ready way to do this. “Regular” headphones would have to be turned up way too loud and make even more noise in my head. So I bought a pair of in-ear monitors (these are basically earplugs with headphones built in); they reduce the outside noise by about 28db and allow one to listen to quiet music even on the insanely loud Glasgow Metro. But…

The whole point of the program I’m doing is examining how we connect to and interact with our environments and the people around us. When I lived in South Carolina, nearly everybody one passed on the street would make eye contact and say hello. One could expect to dole out and receive many dozens of hellos strolling down the avenue. In Philadelphia, for safety reasons if nothing else, one did not make eye-contact. It might be perceived as a threat or an invitation for hassle. Here, it’s not as if the people aren’t friendly, they are just doing something else than connecting with others. They are hurriedly on their way to the place that they aren’t; they are talking to someone on their mobile who is at the place they will be after they go to the place they are now not; they are listening to music or sounds from some other place than the place they currently are.

It is the rare person who quite wants to be where he or she is at the moment; this is especially true on the street. We are careful to create our own personal space and guard it carefully. My sensitivity is noise; I’ve taken measure to block it out and cover it with quiet. However, have I consequently blocked out the people and world around me? Should I face that noise straight on? Or would it just gradually deafen me till I no longer understood subtle sounds? I wonder if the loutish people one sometimes sees in the city have forgotten how to hear quietly. They shout to bridge the distance between.

My fear is that I will not hear the necessary shouting of people around me (not meaning this literally, though one must be extra cautious of traffic if it can’t be heard). We become more distant from our actual surroundings; can I hear the world around me if I’m listening to a symphony or does that make the contrast so much more apparent?

More Outward

The video I made last year for Outward Bound is now in use for their Los Angeles and Bay Area urban centres. I’m told they are really pleased with the piece and use it widely at shows and recruiting events.
I’m glad about that as I shot the whole thing in such a compressed timeframe; sometimes working under pressure is the best prod to creativity.

Observations

I flew back to the States yesterday to have some holiday time with my family. Some (rather cranky) observations:

  1. Noise seems to be inescapable; especially in American airports, there seems to be the constant drone of music and announcements. Many tend to be ominous pronouncements about security, “If you value the lives of your children, please do not leave them unattended at any time; unattended children may be confiscated and destroyed by the Transportation Security Administration.” I had a several hour layover in Chicago (which is not all that bad of an airport considering); and felt like I was under a constant aural assault from loudspeakers, squealing carts, televisions, and all manner of buzzing bleeping things.
  2. People in America are fat; every time I leave and return, I’m shocked. I’ve just finished critiquing a report on the increase of obesity in Britain; but the UK can’t yet compare with the US. For some reason, many of the TSA screeners seem especially overweight. Several of them had great globules of flab hanging over their belts; this does not bode well for their ability to chase down random baddies (though, since security are not all armed, perhaps falling perpetrators is a strategy—some sort of soft enforcement).
  3. The sensors in toilets need better artificial intelligence. I don’t know how many times I’ve been on a toilet that prematurely flushed. One yesterday flushed three times whilst I was on it. I finally discerned that, if I remained completely motionless, it would not flush. I wonder if there is a ready solution (i.e. affix a post-it-note® over the sensor)?
  4. Food on airlines (American Airlines yesterday) can, indeed, taste as horrible as food in hospitals.

Ethical Walking

Every time I ride the subway into the city from my place it’s about £2 roundtrip (a little over $4 USD). However, it only takes me 45 minutes to walk to school, so I’ve been walking most of the time. My erstwhile comfortable casual shoes (Czech made Bata) aren’t made for pounding the pavement though. So, this morning, I set out on what became a small quest for new shoes.

It’s easy to find shoes; in a given city, on a walk from here to anywhere, one is likely to pass a dozen shoes shops. Each will have full windows of the latest fashion or discount pair. It is, unfortunately, difficult to find shoes if one is looking for a pair that weren’t made in a sweatshop somewhere in Asia.

I went from shop to shop, searching and lamenting my sore feet (probably not the best idea to shoe shop with sore feet). Finally, I came upon a store stocking New Balance shoes (made in England). This was the first shoe store I’ve been in that has a “museum” to a certain type of shoe. There is a room in this store with a timeline of New Balance history, how they still manufacture their shoes in England, the innovations, etc. It was especially informative (and I feel like I may have joined some kind of cult—with 10% off on sale).

So now I have a pair of sporty English made New Balance shoes to trounce around town. We’ll see if my legs and feet fare better now.

Buckie and back again

Last night, I returned from Aberdeenshire in the North of Scotland. Some of the Human Ecology students went this weekend on the invitation of one of our cohort, Gerry, for trekking about in the country (special thanks to the whole Aiken family for letting all six of us sleep about on your floors and beds).

First, there is a lot of open space in Scotland; it’s a country made for walking around. Second, it’s made for pleasant walking (unless it’s absolutely pealing rain and wind which, thankfully, this weekend it was not).

We arrived in Buckie, a small town that was formerly a fishing village (however, as the stocks have collapsed, it is no longer. The fishing harbour lies silted up and there are only remnants of the past economy). That’s not to say that the town itself is run down and depressing; they’ve moved on to other ways and means (I get the impression that Scots are fairly industrious in that regard). It was however—grey; every building was grey, the rocks were grey, the sky was grey, the grass was an amazing eye-piercing green. This was the farthest north I’ve ever been; I can’t imagine what it will be like in a couple months when the days are even shorter and greyer. I think this must be why Scots seem to be such good conversationalists; in the winter months there is little else to do (may also hint why they traditionally have large families).

We walked mostly along the coast; the coast looks just like what it looks like in books and films. Which means that I expected the English to try invading at any moment only to be repelled by hearty men and women in kilts—or just the quiet wind and mist to continue unmolested till the sun sat. (Note that I did not take my camera this time; it’s not that I’m tired of taking pictures, I’d just like to see some things without having to think every moment about the camera…but it’s a definite pack-along next time).

Then, the highlight, we went to spent the night at a Bothy (these are old stone houses in the wilderness that are now used as overnight shelters for hikers). We went to a wildlife preserve which, oddly and perversely was wired with lights and sound for “Between the Two Worlds” event. A three-hundred year old tree was rung with flashing white bulbs and speakers playing what can only be described as “faerie music.” It was quite disconcerting.

The bothty itself stood alone in a wide glen surrounded by heather and small bushes. And it was quiet. And dang cold. Fortunately, we had chicken and mushrooms and mince pie and scotch whisky! We built a fire in the fireplace and had conversation and eventually fell asleep with the fire dying down…then I woke up with food poisoning. What is this, my curse! What do I have to do? stop eating?

So we had to walk out (after I had vomited about four times); the guys wiring up the trees and heather were kind enough to give us a ride into the nearest town. I saw the country doctor (perfect image of Scottish doctor; wearing tweed, frumpy leather shoes…) He gave me a shot in the butt (which is sore today) to stop the nausea (and, since I’m in the UK and they have national health care, this didn’t cost a thing). Then, after a couple trains and taxis, I finally got home to my own warm bed. (Here I have to send good onto Gerry and Stephen who stepped me through the whole thing and helped my back.)

Next time I go anywhere, I will only eat in people’s homes or just eat vegetables. Will definitely go trekking again though; think it could be addictive here.