Something new.

We’re trying something new (well, for us, at least) here at The Rant Reader. In order to incorporate a bit of uncertainty/randomness into the mix, we’re opening this to other contributors. Hopefully, some of them will actually write in. Anonymity will be their choice, so please, refrain from prying.

Aside from this, we’ll probably be opening up to random entries from random people. If you want something  posted, but don’t want to bother about signing up with wordpress, write in to rantreader@gmail.com, with your choice of pseudonym (The random-er, the better). Or if you just want to write and don’t want it to necessarily be attributed to you, send it across to us. Try and keep it un-offensive and, preferably, not terrorism-inspiring, and we will probably put it up with your credit. We can’t assure you responses, but hey, what the heck, what do you have to lose?

With much love,
Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum and The Other Guy.

The difficult third album; or, be careful with that axe, Eugene

I have been tagged. By somebody I know. I have written elsewhere before, and have been tagged by strangers. These people have included an argumentative evangelist, a teacher and a chap who posted rare krautrock. My primary concern has always been to make myself sound interesting to these people and therefore I have written slightly embellished posts, embarrassed by the dullness of my imagination and life and being quite stern with myself about being boring. Now really.

I suppose random habits or ‘things’ are those that a statistically large portion of the population would not share, or think about, or care. I suppose wrong. That it is random simply means that it has a probability attached with its occurrence; whether this probability is high or low is immaterial. Now boys, what did I tell you about being tedious? All I am saying that if I tell you about how much I like to read don’t go a-cribbin’ about how I never really did tell you anything random and that I cannot marry your sister, and so what if no one else will have her. All post-hoc probabilities are exactly one.*

Right, so a few random things about me.

1) I would not be averse to a little bit of cross-dressing. Now, I probably need to qualify this a little bit. I love women. Beautiful women. I am an imbecile to beautiful women. A fool. Crack, pop, fizz. Dan Rhodes.

“My girlfriend is so pretty that I can’t get over it. Every week I celebrate the alignment of her features by parading a giant photograph of her lovely face around the town center. I’ve written the words “pretty face” on the picture’s border, and drawn an arrow to direct people’s attention toward it. It’s not bragging, because it’s her that’s the pretty one, not me. I’m going to parade every week for as long as she lets me be her boyfriend, and probably even longer. Nothing’s going to put me off, not even the shouts of “Had her” or “Been there.” “

What legs? Where musk? So why not see what it feels like to be a woman? The object of your own obsession?

2) Stance on physical violence. Last night I was speaking with (a slightly inebriated gorgeous hunk aka Millennium Hand) , and I happened to mention that while I was an intellectual coward, and would not ordinarily take up an argument which was challenging, I have never in my life and never intend to shy away from, a physical confrontation. This surprised Millicent, and he asked incredulously (like almost everyone else) whether I had been in a brawl. I have been. And I enjoy it. I have (to use a verb little used in this sense anymore) fought, with cricket bats, stones, tennis racquets, sticks, fists and metal rods. And I am not afraid of taking a beating.

3) I write things on my thigh. Nothing more to this really.

4a) My favourite comic-book hero is the Phantom.

4b) My favourite cricketers were Mohammad Azharuddin, Saeed Anwar, Andy Flower and Gary Kirsten.

5) Treasure chests.

6) I love the night sky. I can stare at it for hours and hours. I work nights (I leave the house after dark and try to return just as dawn is breaking). If I get done early sometimes, I walk through town and Jesus Green. And one thing you know is that when there is a breeze and the skies are clear, you never want it to change.

>> Edit: A few more tags have come my way so I can ramble on for a little longer using nouns as place markers. Do these make any sense? I change my mind about these thigns a thousand things a day. I forget and remember. Should it be different?

1) Last movie seen in a theatre: Auf der anderen seite (The Edge of Heaven). Now this reminds me that to most people my list is not going to make any sense because I live in a place where it is easier to watch a movie no one has heard of than it is to watch say Spiderman 95. Anyhow, I persevere to document my days. The one I saw before that was There Will Be Blood. And the one before that was a movie called Stellet Licht. A word pf warning. If you are the type who gets easily bored then the first and the second are not for you. The first does have some scenes of lesbianism to (fairly good (I can tell the difference))Euro-techno.

2) Books reading now: The Glittering Prizes by Frederic Raphael. It is about a group of ennui-stricken Cambridge undergraduates in the 50s who produce wit at the rate at which I produce verbal cowpat. Fredric had a new book out a few months ago and it was reviewed in the Spectator. Read the review (if you can find it) to discover what the hallmarks of Fredeirc’s writing are. Georges Perec, LIfe: A User’s Manual and the latest Iain Banks: The Steep Ascent to Garbadale.

3) Favourite Board Game: I was never one for board games. Except. Scrabble. I can be exceptionally annoying to my competitors in Scrabble games. I know some very vague words, and unlike other people recall them just when I have th right tiles. I am a member of UKSCRABBLE and have been for two tourneys around Cambridge.

4) Favourite Magazine: Spectator and Mojo (I keep saying Mojo because it sounds cooler than saying Uncut, but Uncut has more reviews and is generally better presented). I have not missed a week of the Times Literary Supplement in almost 2 years even though some issues are so dense that I have to give up reading them.

5) Favourite Smells: I love women who smell good (even if the perfumes are cheap and cheerful. Well, not cheerful maybe). I could name perfumes but who cares.

6) Favourite sounds: Silence.

7) Worst feeling in the world: None.

8 What is the first thing you think of when awake: Am very vague in the morning. Don’t think of much. Float around. Watch a little TV to settle my thoughts.

9) Favourite fast food place: Dojo. Van on Newnham Road.

10) Future child’s name: Ain’t gonna make none.

11) If I had a lot of money, I’d buy a lot more books.

12) Do I drive fast? Hahahaha….. Not really.

13) Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? For the longest time.A dog. It had the most pitiful eyes. I loved it.

14) Storms? Never paid much attention.

15) What hair?

16) Favourite sports to watch: Snooker.

17) Would you be born again as yourself? No, as a blindingly, I can break your geek heart just by being there, hot woman. Intelligent too.

18 Favourite places to relax: My room, a book, a tv on mute. Something cold to drink.

19) Favourite pie: Treacle tart.

20) Favourite ice cream flavour: Butterscotch.

3 things I am passionate about:

1) Maths

2) Music

3) Books

Things to do before I die:

Absolutely nothing. Learn Swedish maybe.

Things I say often:

Dude.

Huber-White sandwich estimator of the variance-covariance matrix.

Songs I can listen to over and over again:

1) Last Goodbye - Jeff Buckley. 3000 odd plays on my *new* Winamp (it is not more than 6 month old)

2) From this Moment On - Shania Twain and Bryan White. The whole album.

3) Deja Vu (album) CSNY. Especially Suite - Judy Blue Eyes (it is about Joni)

4) Which brings us to Joni Mitchell - Blue (the album). Especially River.

5) The FreeWheelin’ Bob Dylan

6) Bebel Gilberto - Momento. I play it in the morning on youtube and keep the tab alive till evening.

7) The name of this blog. AhaShakeHeartbreak - Kings of Leon.

8 Clem Snide - End of Love (album)

…………

I don’t understand how OneHandBand does this week after week. This picking lists is so depressing. I dig music dudes.

*Not really. Post hoc means in the past tense, after the event has happened. But probability conditions on information. If the happening of the event is not in your information set, the event might or might not have happened. Voila, probability.

Movies

All you need is…

“Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper-cup; they slither while they pass, they slip away, across the universe”.

Everybody should watch “Across the Universe”. Even if you’re not a Beatles fan. Simple, sincere, and damn, such kick-ass music. This is everything you’d ever want from a modern-day musical, and yet, still manages to connect with the hippie within by being what I’d call, a *distant* cousin to The Wall.

(That is, unless you’re looking for a powerful story, and stuff.)

The story is pointless, more or less. I guess you could call it something of a love story, set against the backdrop of ’60s America (aren’t they all?). But what a movie. Stunning visuals. Very nice shots. Very trippy. Songs are brilliant - some incredible versions (you would never believe how deep a song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” is) that you would never imagine. Lots of tongue-in-cheek uses of Beatles songs in the dialogue too, which is very amusing (to a fan). Look out for cameos by Joe Cocker, Bono and Eddie Izzard (someone who I would have never bothered to notice if George hadn’t force-fed me a slew of stand-up comics in Chennai; Thank you George - you made me feel smarter for a day). And some of the arrangements are fantastic - “Come Together”, in particular, really stood out, as did “I Want You (She’s So Heavy!)”.

What I really liked was, amidst all the psychedelia and the ’60s counter-culture movements and anti-war protests, the movie stays true to the Beatles; maybe it’s just my opinion (probably influenced by the fact that I’ve always wondered if it was possible to make a short story out of Beatles song titles), but it’s really impressive how they managed to weave an *entire* story out of song lyrics (a testament to which is the fact that the main characters were named Jude, Lucy, Max, Jojo, Prudence and Sadie; heck, there’s even a Dr. Robert and Mr. Kite!) and still have it make sense! I mean, sure, it was a little trite, and some things were a little too convenient, but it’s such fun! And the director doesn’t limit herself (I think it’s a “her”, can’t remember now) to just the songs either - Jojo is plainly inspired by Hendrix, Sadie by Joplin, Dr. Robert by Ken Kesey; there’s even a rooftop concert, man!

Watch it, man. And if you can, try and watch it on a big screen (I had to watch it on my laptop). You won’t regret it.

*goes off humming the end of Hey Jude*

Apology

It is ironical that I said not a few days ago that I reserve my fiercest hatred for Hindi movies, and truly believe that people who watch contemporary Hindi films should die. Horribly.

Forget all that. Watch this. Preferably in a theatre.

Tag, I’m it.

So, seven random things about me.

I don’t like these games.

1. The second toe on my left foot (the one next to Big Joe) is bigger than my big toe. Not the one on my right foot, however. That’s the same size as Big Moe. (Just so’s you know, Moe’s usually right.) In itself, that’s not so strange (or random). But it *is* strange when you’re 15, and trying to find a pair of shoes. I can’t tell you the number of times I had to go back to the store and buy a size bigger because my right shoe fits perfectly, but my left one is very uncomfortable.
(Yes, it took me *quite* a while to realize that I need to try on shoes with my left foot. What can I say? I was young and stupid.)
(Yes, I said “was”.)

2. I name things. Anything around me. There’s no thought behind it, and definitely no structure. I always have. But when you have a big brother, you learn to suppress those tendencies. Especially since *everything* was a good reason to pummel me. (“Navin, come here; I’m happy!” *Pow*; “Navin, come here; you’re happy!” *Pow*). I still refer to my bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup as Jim. And you’ve already met Big Joe and Big Moe up there at 1. I stopped naming things (or at least, hid them better) after Castaway. Damn Wilson. (It’s no fun anymore when *everyone* has a name for things, and you get into arguments about how your name is stupid.)
(Incidentally, I’m typing this out on Sideshow Bob. He tends to get cranky if I don’t appreciate him enough.)
(He does not like to be called “Sidey”.)

3. I miss being fat. (Well, okay, maybe “obese” is the right word.) I *really* loved it. It was so nice to be expected to do nothing because of my weight. And when you’re growing up, everybody appreciates the fact that you eat all the food on the table.
(It was nice to be appreciated at dinners.)

4. I got attacked by a rogue swing when I was a tiny tot. It left me with a flap and parts of my skull showing. Now, all I have for memories of it are stories my brother’s told people. And a scar that was disappointingly un-cool.

5. I enjoy bad old hindi movies (By “old”, I mean before everything became sex-obsessed). Hell, I even enjoy watching bad English movies dubbed in Hindi! (I love how they keep playing Mortal Kombat 2: Annihilation on Bindaas Movies. Such fun!) I used to own a copy of Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya (the one with the infamous Salman Khan “O o jaane jaana”, um, hit?) and I used to watch it *over* and *over* again. Even after I stopped liking it. It was like a weird friend, who had very limited dialogue.

6. My school was a semi-all boys school (we had shifts; girls in the morning, boys in the afternoon). This led to a lot of ass-kicking. We had this whole phase in class where we used to randomly pick anybody, and, um, “celebrate their birthday” by beating them up, kicking their ass, bouncing them off tables and chairs, then just tossing them high up in the air, and watching them land on a bunch of wood-metal tables and chairs. After a point, it became an unofficial rule for everyone to wear their steel-toe boots to school because you want to cause maximum damage when you’re *not* on the receive end.
(Yes, we were slightly insane.)
(Trust me, you don’t want to know about our *other* “fun games”. *shudder*)

7. I used to pretend to cut school in my senior years. My friends were always looking to pretend that they were going to school, avoid the bus, then head to the nearest mall and change into regular clothes. Unfortunately, I was pretty honest with my folks, and so, I couldn’t really cut class in all good faith. So, I told them I’d be skipping a day, and they were pretty cool with it… so long as a> it wasn’t too regular a habit, b> I didn’t get caught and c> I wasn’t doing anything “bad” (ie: smoking, and then, drinking.) But you can’t really tell that to your “cool” friends. So, every time, I’d go along with the ruse, pack a bag with books *and* clothes, tell my folks I’m going to hang out at so-and-so mall, and go hang out with the gang. It used to be fun pretending that I didn’t want my parents to catch me, because then “I’d be so screwed”.
(Ah, peer pressure.)

*sigh*

Please don’t stop being my friend.

A long overdue tag

Seven random things about me. I suppose that ususally bloggers would look at a tag as a nice tool to break that bloggers block. Truth betold, I’m actually dreading this post. What if I don’t have seven random things about me? What if they aren’t random? By no stretch of imagination was my life (and my personality) anything but dry and boring. But here goes…

1. My third toe (whichever side you count from) on both feet are quite oddly shaped: they curve inwards; in addition I have a unibrow and a very irregular hairline. The latter two being more noticable. I always wondered whether they would just become normal with the passage of time. It really bugged me when I was in school but in college, I realised that my personality more than made up for it!

 2.  Since about sixth grade I’ve had this massive sneezing problem. It would creep up on me all of a sudden and then I’d sneeze 15-20 times in a row leaving me quite drained. I still suffer at the hands of my nose to this day.

3. I just love Bob Dylan. Most poeple say I overdo it. Udayan introduced me to his music. One day, sitting in his room, he played Like a Rolling stone from the 1966 Manchester concert (the “Judas” concert) and it was electric (in more ways than one). The experience wasn’t dampened by his (Udayan’s) off-pitch sing-along.  Picture if you will, two guys sitting next to a music player and screaming “how does it feeeeeel?” with a lot of soul and contorted faces.

4. The two humorists I idolize are Woody Allen and P.G. Wodehouse. They epitomize the two strains of humour I enjoy the most. That quick talking, full-of-smart-references, New York variety and the tongue in cheek, absolutely-perfect-choice-of-word, descriptive variety.

5. Right from school, my ambition was to be able to do nothing. Nothing at all (though I told everybody that I wanted to be a banker- I figured if they would be the ones with all the money). Just sit around and watch TV or something. If I could do that, I would consider my life a success. My dad has achieved this goal (at the ripe age of 60), though he makes tall claims he is going to do this and that and it frightens me how we all secretly want the same things.

6. I have a fetish for wooden furniture. I really like looking at and figuring out designs for study tables in particular. I used to carefully scan the stacks of Ikea brochures we had as a kid and I just couldn’t stop myself. My grand-dad used to design furniture in his spare time (which in those years seemed to be quite abundant) and we still have a lot of it at home and they are some of the cleverest designs I’ve seen.  

7. If I like something, I overdo it. If I like a song I will listen to it for months together. This is true of movies as well. I can repeat them and not get bored. I am yet to however re-read a book.

Ok Navin, Thankar you’re it..

The Crucial Second Album; or, Nice Legs, Shame About the Face

Last night, I bought large chips. Chips are fries. Except that they are huge and never end. All for £1.80. And while you eat them, you can think. Which is what I did. Not very hard or very deep but I, sort of, meandered. And came to the conclusion that I should finish this post. Which I have been writing in bits and pieces for some time. 

Today I intend to answer a question we all ask ourselves, but refuse to consider beyond a point, afraid of what the answer might be. This is also a question, to which my answer will make people who write balanced, informed answers toss a little in their sleep tonight. What could such a question be? For Spay, it could be - “Will I ever get to tap that a**?” For me, it would ordinarily be - “Will I ever get to tap any a**?” However, let us not be childish.

Even by the best accounts of my character, I am the perverted one. But perversion has its advantages, I think. But more about this perversion before I move on. I have always been a sucker for beautiful people. Not pretty gadgets, houses or even books or CDs that were prettily packaged. Just very beautiful men and women. Women on the telly and in magazines and in real life used to leave me anxious and in a tizzy. Not for me your noble and brave. Bring me your pretty ones. It used to happen a lot when I lived in a village and was more of a gawpy villager that I essentially am.

So. When are we clever? Millennium provides impetus to many thoughts that I have over the days and weeks, and today he has sort of stolen my stöllen if you see what I mean. He said that if you don’t ask questions, you can’t be interested in philosophy. I ask questions at an entirely different level. I ask, what have I got to do to be clever. When are you clever. Not intelligent, because that brings to mind some sort of absolute idea to mind. (I thought I’d write a semi-informed article on the nature of intelligence and in true style I downloaded plenty of books and papers to read for this post. Then I was put in place by mindmansion (<–hyuk))

Anyway, I want to know how you can be clever, or be perceived to be clever, because seriously. When do you sit down and stock of another person? You think a person is clever because of some legerdemain that has always eluded me. Is it the way we write? Stipe writes prose that is out there. Truly orginal stuff, un-afraid, and disturbingly catchy. Millennium writes slightly introspective, immaculately researched, yet warm and funny prose. Sometimes he has doubts but he has faith and he has tenacity you (I) would not give him credit for. GPJ writes to-the-point, sensationally clear paragraphs. He will not write one more word than is absolutely necessary.  Salil has written something after ages and ages. Nothing but the best for company then. I write with a touch of buffoonery, a little neurotic and a little ‘I-have-tied-myself-into-knots-please-release-me’ prose. Not clever on that count then?

I wonder why I try so hard. It is not so hard to get used to the idea. I have already gotten used to the idea that I will not be many things. A ’stud’, whatever those things might be is another. There is a Ray film (where there is smoke… a bengali cannot be far behind), called ‘Jalsaghar‘ (The Music Room). The protagonist here is a Zamindar of Roybari (Roy estate) in decline, called Biswanbhar Roy. There is another family, the Gangulis, who live across the river, who over a period of time accumulate wealth by leasing the river which belongs to the Roys and selling the sand. Anyway, after Roy has lost his wife and son (and most of his money) he closes his house for 4 years (drinking sherbet mostly).  Anyway, the denouement of the film is this. Mahim Ganguli comes to Roy’s house to invite him to his new house. He has this conversation with the Nayeb (the caretaker)

“When your old elephant came to my house to deliver the token, everyone saluted you and cheered. When I drove in my new motor car you know what they did? They threw stones and ruined the mudguard. You know why? Because I am a self made-man. No pedigree. Ha ha ha.”

Roy quietly declines, but this breaks his funk as he hears the music in the distance. He calls for the Jalsaghar to be opened again, and calls Krishnabai for another performance. Mahim Ganguli is invited. The last 300 rupees are spent. The music hall glimmers. Krishnabai dances. As she dances Ganguli notices she dances longer and harder for Roy. When the dance is over he extends his hand to reward the dancer. A cane appears and stops Ganguli’s hand. “The first right to reward the artist belongs to the owner of the house”. And Krishnabai gracefully takes the proferred purse from Roy.

Later that evening. Roy is punch drunk. IN the Music Hall. His old faithful is around. And he laughs hysterically.

“Couldn’t do it. That usurer’s son. He failed. He failed. He tries to reach the stars… In vain, in vain.”

“Do you know why he failed?”

“Blood.”

“Blood in my veins.”

“Do you know which blood flows in my veins?”

“Which one master?”

“You want to see? You really want to see? Come here, come. Look at my father. Rameswar. My grandfather Buwaneswar. My great-grandfather. Tarakesvar. My great-great-grandfather Ravanesvar. Cheers! Cheers, noble ancestors! And… to my own nobleness. To myself.”

He dies trying to ride his horse when drunk.

I ate a contemplative chip. I watched another film. Isabelle Huppert and Gerard Depardieu. Isabelle is in Paris and she needs to be satisfied. Many times a day and completely. She keeps Gerard. Just two things here (phew).

“Better a poor guy who fucks me well than a rich loser.”

“What do you talk about? Not about books. ” “I read, but I don’t need to talk about it.”

Not going to get by asking then, are you? I need to go get some more chips.

Half A Thought.

(An apology: This isn’t very well thought out. I’ve made a lot of seemingly random leaps and bounds in every direction, without explaining too well how I reached there. But this is supposed to be The *Rant* Reader, so here you are.)

(This post has also got no mention of any Brit comedy shows from my youth. So, if you’re here to read about that, let me make you not feel you’ve wasted your time completely: Black Adder. Fawlty Towers. Jeeves & Wooster.) (You’re welcome.)

(@A.S.H(ole): If you choose to comment, please - try and restrict yourself to comments that are ten lines or less.)

I’ve never had a problem dealing with rejection.
This worries me a little.
Especially since it seems to be just me - or so I’ve been told, at least.
I’m not really sure why. Even at a very young age, I’ve always been pretty okay with not being selected for a team, or not being given some fantastic opportunity or the other, for whatever reason. For some reason, rejection has never really bothered me.

The other day, I was having a discussion with a friend about relationships. She didn’t like the idea of meeting random guys with the intention of finding a potential partner; she was equally daunted, if not more so, by the idea that she might find someone who would be “Mr. Right”, and who’d give her the cold shoulder and walk on. She didn’t want to put herself on the line to be judged like a poodle in a dog show, and be assessed on size, colour, breeding, and whatever else the heart might fancy.

Is this common? Does everyone feel like this?

This need for acceptance strikes as being a rather one-sided concept. Most people seem to want the opportunity to accept or reject someone (or something) as they see fit, whatever the situation - relationships, jobs, friends, stores you shop at, you get the idea. But they feel that the reverse is wrong. You don’t like it if someone tells you they don’t want to hang out with you, they don’t like you, or the ever-popular “Get the f*ck away from me, @$$hole!” You don’t like being rejected because you’re over-weight, because you aren’t good-looking, because you aren’t the “jock”, the list is endless. Everybody likes to give, but no one likes to receive. Come on. Shouldn’t we *all* be given the freedom to decide who or what appeals to us, regardless of what the result? Would you rather be in a situation where you *had* to say yes - just because? In the end, everything is subjective (Can anyone *truly* have an “objective opinion”?) and we are all victims of what we are perceived to be (which is probably why so many places train you for interviews). It just seems more logical to accept *that*, and move on, doesn’t it?

Now, assuming that the above is a rational (albeit unstructured, and really, quite messy), and, for want of a better word, *fair* argument, how do we explain racism? And it’s unusual consequence - affirmative action? By rejecting someone for being a particular race, aren’t we merely exercising our right to reject someone we don’t feel comfortable with, for whatever reason? And by insisting that somebody has to be accepted because of what they are, aren’t we taking away the freedom to choose from another?

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not for racism. I never have been, and (probably) never will be. But I’m not for affirmative action either. And that’s my confusion. I find myself riding the fence, in an extremely uncomfortable position. I find myself having greater difficulty justifying that racism is evil and just plain wrong to myself, considering that, in the end, I’ve always believed that everybody ought to have the freedom to choose what they want and who they want. So which way is right, in today’s world? Can we bring ourselves to deny anyone anything on any criteria, without oppressing them in some way? Must we all bend over backward to accept others, despite their shortcomings, in whatever form they may be manifested?

And what does this imply for popularity contests, like American Idol? Do they fall under the freedom to choose who we like, or is that us restricting the chances of someone who may be a far better performer, simply because they don’t appeal to us?

Perhaps I’m extrapolating relationships too far here. Maybe we can’t generalize criteria the way I have in my head. Maybe race doesn’t apply to any kind of relationship as easily as, say, personality, or IQ, or how big your boobs are. But I’d like to, some day, have an answer that wouldn’t make me feel like a hypocrite when I condemn racism, or when I ridicule affirmative action, or when I tell somebody that “This isn’t working out”. I’m sure a qualified sociologist could probably explain to me where my logic is wrong and how stupid I am, without batting an eye. I guess I’m hoping that some of you might be able to do the same, even if it might take you a little longer.

(That’s also because I’m guessing I’ll know most of you, and hell, I can be quite a stubborn ass, if I want to.)

(And, um, happy Valentine’s day… if that’s your thing.)

Navin, look what you’ve done

Comment by ahashakeheartbreak  

George, I don’t completely agree. You really need to subscribe to an ideology whenever uncertainty is involved. The only ideology free people are absract mathematicians (meta-mathematicians - what a concept, category theorists, people whose job it is to categorise abstract mathematics - does it get more Laputa than that?). Even then not entirely. Everyone wants to see things go a certain way if there are different paths to choose from. A perspective they feel comfortable with, a formulation that they ‘like’. And if this ideology is to spurn mathematics in favour of discursive analysis, then I am not so sure. Godel showed that when it comes to consistent formulations of the world, intuition and clarity are weak reeds to lean on.

The kind of Economics I do (if it is Economics at all) cannot answer why the Kyoto protocol never got signed (for its 50 years and space-age mathematics game theory is hopeless at questions which involve more than the thinnest heuristic constructions). And given this, the best way is to take questions like this into the realm of common sense and some canny verbal reasoning. This comes with its baggage of rhetoric and confusion. The Sophists have had 3000 years to make matters clear. Hilbert has had 150. Do the people who attack the so-called orthodox mathematical economics actually believe that at every university in every university ‘orthodox’ econometricians are going at each problem without imagination, creativity or differentiation mathematising economics automata-like? They try very hard to draw conclusions that are relevant and usable. But why are we in such a tearing hurry to get there?

But more importantly than any of this, you cannot make money off descriptive finance.

I am not really sure what I am trying to convey except that you realise what your ideology/allegiance is so that you know what pitfalls to avoid. For me I have to avoid poorly designed Monte Carlo experiments. What is your dysfunction?

Also, in my very feeble opinion, I think that Krugman should stop writing his blog. It gives people a chance to attack his economics (which is really *very* duifferent from what he writes on his blog; not that I agree with everything he says) without understanding any of the caveats or uncertainty even the simplest prescriptions have or the frameworks they are nested in. I believe that if you are really interested then learn to read the Latin, than wait for someone to translate it into the simplespeak that everyone thinks it is their right to expect. These are not the dark ages, Latin has never been this simple to learn.

Although I think that Krugman writes his blog for a reason which is called Type III error in statistics (sic), viz. rejecting the wrong conclusions for the wrong reasons. Sometime the wrong objections is quite useful really.

Comment by The Millennium Hand on February 10, 2008 10:30 pmLongest comment I’ve ever seen.As far a ideology goes, Slavoj Zizek says that the absence of a conscious ideology is the surest sign of the existence of one. And I tend to agree. You guys should see Adam Curtis’s documentaries on Google Video: especially “The Century of the Self” and “The Trap.” Even the notion that a person’s clothing reflects his or her personality is an artifact of advertising and marketing strategies, which were informed by a quasi-Freudian understanding of human motives.

Thundering typhoons and Billions of billious barbecued blue blistering barnacles!

 People are getting serious here.