Have you been following the markets? Gold is down, oil is down. Gilad Shalit is up.
Hamas has apparently raised the exchange price of the captured Israeli soldier after Hezbollah's lucrative prisoner exchange last week. Israel released five living Arab prisoners and the bodies of 199 more, in return for the remains of two Israeli soldiers.
The story of one of the five prisoners Israel released is particularly gruesome. In 1979, in a raid on an Israeli town, Samir Kantar shot dead an Israeli man in front of his four-year-old daughter, then bashed the girl's head in with the butt of his rifle. Upon hearing about his grotesque deeds, I instantly recalled the words of psalm 137: By the Rivers of Babylon.
It is a psalm included in the Jewish Grace after Meals, and well known for verses 5 and 6 ("If I forget thee, O Jerusalem . . .").
But the final two verses are the ones that really get to me, the ones that instantly sprang to mind when I heard of Kantar's murders:
O Babylon, who are destined to be laid waste, happy is he who will repay you in retribution for what you have inflicted on us. Happy is he who will seize and crush your infants against the rock!
Psalm 137:8-9
There is nothing funny to say. No punchline. Just sick revulsion at a horrible crime; a revulsion compounded by the fact that so many of my friends and families, believing Jews, chant these exact words in high spirits, words sanctioning and blessing crimes like Kantar's.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Prove Me Wrong
I have always taken it for granted that religion avoids making falsifiable claims. A falsifiable claim is one which, if it is wrong, can be proven wrong. For instance, if I say there are invisible pink unicorns gallivanting around my bedroom, that would be an unfalifiable claim. There is no way to prove me wrong.
Contrast that with a claim that, say, blue whales are the largest living creatures on Earth. All you have to do to prove me wrong is show me a bigger animal. (Interestingly, there are bigger organisms out there. There's a single fungus in Oregon, for example, that is 3.5 miles across. Is it not wonderful, children?)
In the great Science vs Religion kumite, science makes plenty of falsifiable claims. To quote Richard Dawkins, an evolutionary biologist with a brilliant mind and the smile of a psychopathic pedophile: "If there were a single hippo or rabbit in the Precambrian, that would completely blow evolution out of the water. None have ever been found."
I've always thought that religion shied away from making really falsifiable claims for the most part, preferring instead to stick to vague statements about the nature of the Universe and Man. I have had a quick glance at documentary hypothesis in the past, and do intend to delve into it deeper in the future, but assertions like "the Bible seems to be written by four authors with distinct writing styles" are hardly knockouts.
"Letter to my Rabbi" by Naftali Zeligman has really opened my eyes to a new line of inquiry. In it, he addresses and discusses Biblical and Talmudic statements with falsifiability, like "the four animals listed in the Torah as each having a single sign of purity . . . are the only animals in the world with only one sign of purity"[Chulin 59a] and "All countries came into Egypt to Joseph to buy corn, for the famine was sore in all lands." [Genesis 41:57].
He does a thoroughly sterling job, and I highly recommend reading his piece: http://www.talkreason.org/articles/letter1.cfm
Contrast that with a claim that, say, blue whales are the largest living creatures on Earth. All you have to do to prove me wrong is show me a bigger animal. (Interestingly, there are bigger organisms out there. There's a single fungus in Oregon, for example, that is 3.5 miles across. Is it not wonderful, children?)
In the great Science vs Religion kumite, science makes plenty of falsifiable claims. To quote Richard Dawkins, an evolutionary biologist with a brilliant mind and the smile of a psychopathic pedophile: "If there were a single hippo or rabbit in the Precambrian, that would completely blow evolution out of the water. None have ever been found."
I've always thought that religion shied away from making really falsifiable claims for the most part, preferring instead to stick to vague statements about the nature of the Universe and Man. I have had a quick glance at documentary hypothesis in the past, and do intend to delve into it deeper in the future, but assertions like "the Bible seems to be written by four authors with distinct writing styles" are hardly knockouts.
"Letter to my Rabbi" by Naftali Zeligman has really opened my eyes to a new line of inquiry. In it, he addresses and discusses Biblical and Talmudic statements with falsifiability, like "the four animals listed in the Torah as each having a single sign of purity . . . are the only animals in the world with only one sign of purity"[Chulin 59a] and "All countries came into Egypt to Joseph to buy corn, for the famine was sore in all lands." [Genesis 41:57].
He does a thoroughly sterling job, and I highly recommend reading his piece: http://www.talkreason.org/articles/letter1.cfm
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Never Degreenify Me!
Today was one of the most wonderful days of my life. Really. And surprisingly, it didn't involve martial arts, or stealth bombers, or Ellen Page.
It involved a musical called Wicked. Shana first introduced me to Wicked by giving me some of the songs to listen to. And what songs they are! Full of wit and colour, poignancy and splendiferousness. They soon became part of our routine (we sing a lot), and today we finally got to see it live in concert at Melbourne's Regent Theatre.
The thrill of it all was magical. I was admonished by someone several seats up for singing along. Which I continued to do, albeit somewhat quieter than before. I bought an overpriced Wicked t-shirt for the residual joy I will feel every time I see it. I was jumping up and down before and after. Long after.
From the moment we stepped out of the theatre, we were singing. We sang through the streets of Melbourne city. We sang on the bus to the airport, waiting for the plane, on the plane, getting off the plane, bussing home.
The bus to the airport was particularly fun. Some people in front of us had just been to the same performance, and were greatly impressed by my ability to remember the words so well as I chanted verse after verse from the showtunes. They were impressed for all of five seconds, until Shana told them that we were, in fact, already quite familiar with the Wicked tunes, thus ruining my chance of pretending to some random South Australians that I was a musical prodigy who could properly remember and sing songs after hearing them once. A musical Simmons, if you will. Ah well.
I highly recommend the songs a listen, and if you ever get a chance to see it live, take it. Otherwise, you're a dunderhead. For all you lazy people, here are Youtube links. Listen to these two songs, then tell me they're not fantabulous. I dare you.
Popular: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uzhw3hmRoc
I'm Not That Girl: http://youtube.com/watch?v=ePSQtDGkFnk
I guess the most apt summary for this somewhat rambling review would be a line from the show itself:
I couldn't be happier.
It involved a musical called Wicked. Shana first introduced me to Wicked by giving me some of the songs to listen to. And what songs they are! Full of wit and colour, poignancy and splendiferousness. They soon became part of our routine (we sing a lot), and today we finally got to see it live in concert at Melbourne's Regent Theatre.
The thrill of it all was magical. I was admonished by someone several seats up for singing along. Which I continued to do, albeit somewhat quieter than before. I bought an overpriced Wicked t-shirt for the residual joy I will feel every time I see it. I was jumping up and down before and after. Long after.
From the moment we stepped out of the theatre, we were singing. We sang through the streets of Melbourne city. We sang on the bus to the airport, waiting for the plane, on the plane, getting off the plane, bussing home.
The bus to the airport was particularly fun. Some people in front of us had just been to the same performance, and were greatly impressed by my ability to remember the words so well as I chanted verse after verse from the showtunes. They were impressed for all of five seconds, until Shana told them that we were, in fact, already quite familiar with the Wicked tunes, thus ruining my chance of pretending to some random South Australians that I was a musical prodigy who could properly remember and sing songs after hearing them once. A musical Simmons, if you will. Ah well.
I highly recommend the songs a listen, and if you ever get a chance to see it live, take it. Otherwise, you're a dunderhead. For all you lazy people, here are Youtube links. Listen to these two songs, then tell me they're not fantabulous. I dare you.
Popular: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uzhw3hmRoc
I'm Not That Girl: http://youtube.com/watch?v=ePSQtDGkFnk
I guess the most apt summary for this somewhat rambling review would be a line from the show itself:
I couldn't be happier.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Young Love
When I first saw her I knew I had to make her mine. Her skin seemed to sparkle, seemed to glow. I gazed in awe at her delicate frame, her gorgeous features. Whenever we're together, my heart beats fast, and I feel my insides aflame. When we move, it is the laughter of the gods, and a thousand thousand cherubim singeth verses of praise all around us. Time loses all meaning. I move slow as a paper lantern on a calm lake, yet faster than the cloud-borne dragons. The entire world vanishes, and for a moment there is only she and I, and that moment is pure bliss.
But this merriment, this mirth, it comes at quite a hefty price. I payed most heavily for the privilege of being with her. Yet, I am confident that the purchase was a shrewd one, for I expect that we shall be together for a very long time. At least a year and a half - two years, I'm told. And I guess, like with most anything else, if you want a good quality bike, you gotta put the money down.
I bought her today, from my local bike shop, and named her Epona. I have learnt to ride on whatever third-rate bikes I could find around the house (think very old, very crappy, very stolen), so the handling alone was like eating ice cream. She seems to respond to my thoughts themselves, not unlike a Firebolt.
Anyway, that's enough about my bike. It is always insufferable to hear a young buck in love ramble on about the object of his desire.
Quick shout-out to my man Seagen, who can play Samus better than my Link, and Link better than my Samus. The man's got skillz.
And we're just about done. Before we go: did you notice how I didn't use the phrase "ride her" in the opening paragraphs? See, I do have class.
But this merriment, this mirth, it comes at quite a hefty price. I payed most heavily for the privilege of being with her. Yet, I am confident that the purchase was a shrewd one, for I expect that we shall be together for a very long time. At least a year and a half - two years, I'm told. And I guess, like with most anything else, if you want a good quality bike, you gotta put the money down.
I bought her today, from my local bike shop, and named her Epona. I have learnt to ride on whatever third-rate bikes I could find around the house (think very old, very crappy, very stolen), so the handling alone was like eating ice cream. She seems to respond to my thoughts themselves, not unlike a Firebolt.
Anyway, that's enough about my bike. It is always insufferable to hear a young buck in love ramble on about the object of his desire.
Quick shout-out to my man Seagen, who can play Samus better than my Link, and Link better than my Samus. The man's got skillz.
And we're just about done. Before we go: did you notice how I didn't use the phrase "ride her" in the opening paragraphs? See, I do have class.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
My 20th Birthday? That's a rap.
I had my birthday party tonight. I'm 20 now. No more teenage years for me, no sir.
The party was pretty frikkin' great. We all chilled at my grandparents' pad: it is a bitchin' joint. And yes, Huda, pad is a real word.
And the freestyling!
Seemingly out of the blue, Simmons suggested that I have a rap battle with Alex, and we both agreed. On the coin toss, he hit his tails, and chose to go first.
Now, my man Gillespie is pro at freestyling. He practices at home a lot. I did not know this when I agreed to duel him. I quickly found out.
Alex spat an astonishingly fluid piece. He just kept a flow going through line after line. I was in awe by the end of it, but no way was I gonna fold. I pulled myself together and scrapped together some couplets. They didn't run like Gillespie's - not even close - and my verse was much shorter than his. Ultimately though, I pulled through, and slammed him on the fact that he's Colombian and has rich parents who buy him nice clothes ^_^
I went toe to toe with Simmons straight after, and he put together some damn nice lines that hit right on the mark. I managed to stay on top though, with both the crowd and Gillespie (adjudicating) calling the battle for me. It's a good thing his hatred for short people is so legendary.
So, I now have an amateur freestyling record of 2-0. If only I'd fought like this at AMAC . . .
The party was pretty frikkin' great. We all chilled at my grandparents' pad: it is a bitchin' joint. And yes, Huda, pad is a real word.
And the freestyling!
Seemingly out of the blue, Simmons suggested that I have a rap battle with Alex, and we both agreed. On the coin toss, he hit his tails, and chose to go first.
Now, my man Gillespie is pro at freestyling. He practices at home a lot. I did not know this when I agreed to duel him. I quickly found out.
Alex spat an astonishingly fluid piece. He just kept a flow going through line after line. I was in awe by the end of it, but no way was I gonna fold. I pulled myself together and scrapped together some couplets. They didn't run like Gillespie's - not even close - and my verse was much shorter than his. Ultimately though, I pulled through, and slammed him on the fact that he's Colombian and has rich parents who buy him nice clothes ^_^
I went toe to toe with Simmons straight after, and he put together some damn nice lines that hit right on the mark. I managed to stay on top though, with both the crowd and Gillespie (adjudicating) calling the battle for me. It's a good thing his hatred for short people is so legendary.
So, I now have an amateur freestyling record of 2-0. If only I'd fought like this at AMAC . . .
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Homework Assignment
"This week each one of you has a homework assignment.
You're gonna go out, you're gonna start a fight with a total stranger.
You're gonna start a fight, and you're gonna lose."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
I watched Fight Club last Saturday night. I fought in a martial arts tournament on Sunday. It was not a winning combination. I lost my first fight, and was eliminated from the tournament. It wasn't a close fight. I was demolished. I was steamrolled by a fighter I know I can beat; I lost without scoring a single point. To put it simply, I failed. Epically.
Since the tournament, Sifu has been insisting on a return to basics. I've started doing san ti again, a meditative standing posture. And I've realised something quite important. My goals, my dreams of martial arts greatness, have slowly been slipping away from me since I started full-time work 5 months ago. It's not so much my physical fitness and strength that concerns me; they're sub-par, but not too difficult to correct.
Rather, a spirit of despair seems to have overtaken me. Doubt. I have not been as confident in my path, my future. I have begun to question all too frequently whether I really have it in me. I realised all this during the meditation of san ti.
However, I've also begun to feel something during san ti, something I haven't properly felt in a while. It's a raw, surging power; this vast energy that seems to fill my body and set my skin on fire. And while I feel this surge, my confidence returns. I can feel in my arms the seeds of great power, the power to defeat all my opponents, claim the titles, and take my place alongside the all-time greats of martial arts.
Or it could be muscle burn. Whatever.
You're gonna go out, you're gonna start a fight with a total stranger.
You're gonna start a fight, and you're gonna lose."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
I watched Fight Club last Saturday night. I fought in a martial arts tournament on Sunday. It was not a winning combination. I lost my first fight, and was eliminated from the tournament. It wasn't a close fight. I was demolished. I was steamrolled by a fighter I know I can beat; I lost without scoring a single point. To put it simply, I failed. Epically.
Since the tournament, Sifu has been insisting on a return to basics. I've started doing san ti again, a meditative standing posture. And I've realised something quite important. My goals, my dreams of martial arts greatness, have slowly been slipping away from me since I started full-time work 5 months ago. It's not so much my physical fitness and strength that concerns me; they're sub-par, but not too difficult to correct.
Rather, a spirit of despair seems to have overtaken me. Doubt. I have not been as confident in my path, my future. I have begun to question all too frequently whether I really have it in me. I realised all this during the meditation of san ti.
However, I've also begun to feel something during san ti, something I haven't properly felt in a while. It's a raw, surging power; this vast energy that seems to fill my body and set my skin on fire. And while I feel this surge, my confidence returns. I can feel in my arms the seeds of great power, the power to defeat all my opponents, claim the titles, and take my place alongside the all-time greats of martial arts.
Or it could be muscle burn. Whatever.
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