Simon and the Skeptics

A few weeks ago I wrote about science journalist Simon Singh and his run-in with the British Chiropractic Association.

Simon’s currently on a tour of Australia as part of the 2009 Festival of Ideas, doing meet-and-greets, promoting his books and talking (in a limited way) about the BCA libel case.

This evening he spoke to the Victorian Skeptics about some of the topics from his book Trick or Treatment, focusing particularly on homeopathy and its somewhat ridiculous underlying theory.

I was hoping that we might get one or two homeopathists or chiropractors popping up for a bit of an argument, but no such luck. It was largely a case of preaching to the converted so it was a very entertaining, but far from controversial, evening.

Having been a huge fan of Simon’s for years (ever since The Code Book and Fermat’s Last Theorem … I’m such a maths nerd), after the talk I bucked up the fanboy courage for a quick chat.

I can’t remember what we talked about (fanboy, remember?) but it did happen. I’ve got the photo to prove it.

Simon’s the one with the cool haircut.

Simple Diary Entry

It’s been ages since I’ve written a simple diary entry; a piece free of those distracting pictures, free of philosophy and free of celebrity deaths.

The original intention of this blog was to bang on about what’s been happening in my life. Sometimes it’s nice to get back to basics.

Such things require no research at all. Not that I do all that much.

And I don’t need to spend hours scouring Google Images for those distracting pictures.

Back to the diary.

This week was pleasantly bisected with a day off on Wednesday, the intention of which was to hale and heartily greet the Foxtel man as he installed dozens of channels of entertainment goodness.

Unfortunately it was not to be.

The installation will require a certain amount of drilling holes in walls and digging up the garden, all of which was apparently beyond the capability of the man telling me this.

This was particularly annoying, because Wednesday also saw the departure of my lovely wife overseas on a business trip for two weeks.

My plan had been to spend her absence wearing a serious groove in the couch watching documentaries and repeats of Star Trek. If all went well I’d be starting to get over it by the time she got back and wouldn’t mind so much as we devolve into a diet of Fashion TV and E! News.

But alas, it was not to be.

So what am I to do now? Dunno. Might as well write a blog.

Mind Body Wallet

The Mind Body Wallet Spirit festival.

An annual (or thereabouts) celebration of woo-woo of every stripe. Everything from personal horoscopes and psychic readings to spiritual healing and magic potions.

On Saturday fellow skeptics Catherine, Elliot, Jack, Dahli and I went along to soak in some of the rarefied atmosphere.

I should point out we weren’t there to take the piss. Or start arguments. Or be assholes. Or convince anyone that they’re wrong. For my part, I’m genuinely interested in the worldview of people who believe this sort of thing, if only because it’s so different from my own.

No, we were there to represent the skeptical community and record a few bits for the Pseudo Scientists podcast. And for me, I wanted to find out what makes these people tick.

We began by talking to a lovely lady from Christocentric Light, a group that combines new-age type beliefs with Christianity. They’re big on dream interpretation, so we got chatting about a recurring dream I have where I’m in an elevator which starts going sideways before leaving the building altogether. Apparently that means I feel I’m stagnating (hence going sideways) and to fix this, I should try to make the elevator go up.

(I wanted to point out that my dreams are probably an effect not a cause of the apparent stagnation, so manipulating my dreams won’t necessarily help in my real life. But Catherine helpfully suggested I push the “Up” button instead of the “Sideways” button. That was such a brilliant suggestion I decided to leave it there.)

We then sat down to record a bit for the podcast, only to be interrupted by a lady from Psionics, a group who could teach us all about astral travelling. All we had to do was sign up for their $1,200 course and we could travel all around the world and throughout the universe. Bargain. Unfortunately my question about how you know you’re really travelling and not just dreaming was evaded and unanswered.

After a break to taste some tea (during which I noted that every single tea I tried apparently had more anti-oxidants than all the others) it was back to the circuit.

Dahli took part in a muscle test which “proved” the power of scalar energy, a magical force imparted to the wearer of a quantum/nanotech/bio-vibrational amulet. And while this was going on, Elliot and I got talking to some Christian Scientists.

Christian Science is all about healing through prayer, so Elliot asked the very reasonable question why (if this stuff had been rigorously studied as they claimed) they weren’t publishing it in medical journals and winning Nobel prizes. They even claimed success in the field of regrowing missing limbs! Sadly they didn’t know which one of their many magazines that particular article was in, but they did assure us it was true.

Memo to Christian Scientists: the question “if God heals, why doesn’t he regrow missing limbs?” is so common it’s a cliché. If you’ve got evidence for that one, stick it right up front of your stand. Just sayin’.

A little more wandering and we decided to call it a day and headed out for the obligatory photo op. Check out the next Pseudo Scientists podcast for a complete wrap-up of events.

This festival is an amazing collection of woo-woo all the one place, and it’s a little overwhelming when you’re going in with a deliberately skeptical eye.

I can appreciate that a lot of these people genuinely believe they’re helping with their magic potions and rituals, and it could even be argued they are helping if someone goes in looking for that kind of thing.

But at the core of it all is a huge industry cynically making lots of money off the credulous and the vulnerable.

This was my conclusion about what makes them tick. It’s definitely more Wallet than Spirit.

Skeptics United!

This weekend a bunch of our skeptical friends from Sydney came down to Melbourne for drinks.

There were some lectures and stuff too, but mainly drinks.

I could go on and on about what a great time it was, but the erstwhile Jack Scanlan over at Homologous Legs provides an excellent summary of events, so I don’t really have to bother.

Plus it’s late and I’m tired.

All you need to know is that it was tops.

If you’re really keen, Podblack Cat has posted a bunch of stuff, including photos and videos. Knock yourselves out, kids.

Anyway, here’s a cool photo of me with the gang.

From left: me, Dr Rachel Dunlop and Richard Saunders from the Skeptic Zone podcast, Dave the Happy Singer, Kylie Sturgess (aka Podblack Cat) and the very cool Mr. Joel Birch.

A big thanks to the Young Australian Skeptics for organising this truly excellent event.

Let’s do it again soon!

A Tale of Two Tailors

During our recent visit to Hong Kong I decided to get a new suit.

Hong Kong is of course famous for its tailors. Or at least, famous for the way its tailors stand out in the street touting their wares.

And it just so happened that our hotel was in the middle of a veritable tailor’s market. Convenient.

Every morning as we stepped outside we ran a gauntlet of well-dressed gentlemen handing us cards, describing the lovely suits and shirts they could make for us and stopping just short of physically manhandling us into their shops.

Over the course of the week we got to know them and they got to know us. Some stopped bothering us after a day or two. Others didn’t.

And one, let’s call him Lakshaman, was particularly persistent.

All this choice was intoxicating but in the end it was no choice at all. I went to Sam’s Tailor. Tailor to royalty. Tailor to the stars.

The shop walls were papered with photos of every celebrity you can think of. Each one was standing next to Manu (aka “Sam”), his measuring tape slung casually over his shoulder and a beaming smile on his face.

I tried on my new suit watched over by David Bowie, Tony Blair and George Bush Senior. I shook Manu’s hand and walked back to the hotel, proudly carrying my “Sam’s Tailor” suit bag.

And that was when I saw Lakshaman. He wasn’t happy. In fact, he took it quite personally.

“Every day I ask you if you want a suit! Every day you say no! And now here! Here you have gone to Sam’s! Why not me? What is wrong with my suits? Why do you insult me like this?”

And so on. And on. And on.

Every time I walked past him he would pick up where he last left off. After a day or two we both got a little tired of it. Around then he decided to abbreviate his tirades to simply calling me “Sam”.

I’ll be watching out for Lakshaman next time I’m in Hong Kong. Maybe I’ll even buy a suit from him.

I better. Or he’ll probably shank me at the airport.

Hong Kong in Pictures

Here’s a bunch of photos from our trip to Hong Kong last week.

Monday. Generic Hong Kong street scene.

Yuen Po Street Bird Garden in Kowloon. As well as your usual selection of sparrows and parrots there were cockatoos, galahs and this toucan. I suspect not all of this was strictly legal.

Tuesday. Ferry to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon. Street market in Soho on Hong Kong Island. Travelling companions Ty and Debbie in left of frame.The new-ish Bank of China building on Hong Kong Island, which has the locals up in arms for its shameless violation of Feng Shui principles. Triangles are bad mmkay.

Looking down on Hong Kong Island from halfway up the scenic Peak Tram route. That hill was seriously steep.

Group shot at the Peak, after we’d walked away from the tourists and found a nice quiet spot to enjoy some wine. No glasses, so we just necked it straight from the bottle. Classy.Wednesday. Phallic art and phallic buildings outside the art gallery in Kowloon. Dinner at One-thirtyone in Sai Kung. This refined dining was followed up by drinking in our hotel room and watching the Top 100 songs of the 80s on Chinese MTV. Good times.Thursday. A quick drink while waiting for the boat to Lantau Island. I wasn’t expecting to find officially licensed Monty Python beer, but then again, NO-ONE expects . . . oh never mind. Extra credit to anyone who can read what it says on my t-shirt and complete the phrase.The Big Buddha at Ngong Ping on Lantau Island. This bad boy is 34 metres tall. Luckily we had been fortified with a vegetarian lunch at the nearly Po Lin monastery before climbing the 268 steps to the base. I got that number from Wikipedia. I didn’t count them. Really. Cable car down from Ngong Ping to Tung Chung. While it was scary, it was a lot less scary than the taxi ride on the way up.Final night celebrations at Shui Hu Ju in Soho. That’s a bunch of deep fried chicken under all those chillies. It took a lot of beer to make the burning stop, let me tell you.

And that’s it. A thoroughly awesome trip and like always, over far too quickly.

Hope you enjoyed it. We certainly did.

Land of Magic and Dumplings

A quick update as we head into day three in Hong Kong.

Day one breakfast was successfully procured, you'll be pleased to know, as were mountainous volumes of dumplings for most meals since.

Ah, dumplings. How I love thee and thy messy splutziness.

Yesterday was eventful, with a ferry trip across to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon, a ride up to the peak on the skytram and once we made it safely back down, celebratory mango daiquiris in a bar trying very hard to look like 1930s Shanghai.

Today will apparently involve a trip to a Buddhist temple. And, I suspect, more dumplings.

We've taken lots of photos, but my iPod (upon which I'm laboriously tapping this out) isn't ideally suited to uploading them

I will upload them though, as soon as I find some technology better able to cope with that sort of thing.

Gone Honkin'

Updates may be intermittent for the next few days, as we've skived off for a week's holiday in Hong Kong.

We arrived this morning, 6.30am local time, after an 8-hour flight.

Expected level of activity this first day: low.

First mission: to find some breakfast.

Bloglessness

Look at that. Almost a week since the last post and another week back to the one before.

I’d like to claim that Life has spectacularly intruded and instead of writing about it I’m out there Living it.

Sadly it’s not true. Although I have been to some cool comedy festival shows.

This week has just been a regular work week (albeit foreshortened for Easter) and I’ve arguably had more time for such things . . . particularly as my lovely wife is off jetting between Tokyo, New York and London for work.

The culprit? Twitter. It’s a rampant and unforgiving time thief. Hours that would have been spent here researching and ranting (admittedly less of the former and more of the latter) has instead been spent Tweeting. With . . . um . . . my Tweeps.

Ahem.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Microblogging is its own special joy. And besides, while it’s made me less productive in this space it’s given me a renewed burst of enthusiasm for the medium in general, which was starting to wane a little.

The other plus with Twitterland is the connection to a community of cool skeptics, some of whom are minor internet celebrities (I’ll let them decide who I might be referring to) and some of whom I’ll meet in person at my first Vic Skeptics meeting on Monday night.

I’m hugely looking forward to that.

That’s enough for the moment. I’m off to do something constructive. Like watch the latest episode of Dollhouse.

Casually Corporate

Suits are optional at my workplace. The dress code is the somewhat ambiguous ‘corporate casual’.

As far as I can tell this means (for men) to wear something approximating a suit, but the tie is optional and it doesn’t really matter if your jacket doesn’t match.

For lazy people like me it’s a bonanza. I can spend that extra two minutes saved by not putting on a tie every morning doing something constructive. Like sleeping in for an extra two minutes.

However, circumstances sometimes call for a more formal mode of dress. Like meeting with clients. Or going to job interviews.

Actually, that’s a bit of a running gag. If someone turns up wearing a tie who normally doesn’t, that’s the first question: “job interview then?”

(Admittedly it’s become slightly less amusing in these fraught and redundancy-laden times).

But over the last couple of days I’ve had my own reason to be donning the tie and matching jacket. We’re seeking a replacement for one of my team who rudely found a better job more in keeping with his career goals a few weeks ago.

So I’m sitting in a room, playing serious manager-type, and asking the same inane questions of candidates over and over again.

“Why are you interested in this role?”

“What is your previous experience?”

“Can you tell me about a time when . . . (insert difficult professional dilemma here).”

And when colleagues see me in the suit and tie and say “job interview then?” . . . I say yes.

Heatwave

It’s too darn hot.

And I make no apology for saying that.

Three days in a row of 40+ degree temperatures are enough to make anyone use words like “darn”. (That’s 104+ for our Imperial American friends).

It might not sound like much if you’re from Arizona, but we’re just not set up for this sort of crap.

The city is drooping.

We’ve got rolling blackouts across the state.

The train system is at a standstill.

And there’s no end in sight. The forecast says it’s not going to drop below 30 for another week.

What to do on a day like today?

Well, this afternoon I’ll be spending three hours sitting in a TV studio watching my sister compete in a game show.

I hope she does well.

And I really hope they have air conditioning.

Osstrayenopen

Ah, the Australian Open.

A time when people of all cultures gather in one place to be burnt by the sun and entertained by the rhythmic alternate striking of a small rubber ball by two incredibly well-paid young people who, in turn, are surrounded by a grim-faced coterie staring at lines painted on the ground, concerned to the point of obsession about which side of the line the rubber ball may fall.

For some reason understood by none except the eldritch brotherhood of “promoters” and “officials”, these ingredients alchemically combine into one hella Fun Day Out.

 

 

A Zen-like state of serenity descends upon the crowd, brought upon them by the rhythms of the game.

The attention of all is focused on the smallest of details . . . the direction of the serve, the curve of the ball, and the light glinting off the sweaty buttocks of the streaker.

For this moment in time the thousands are joined as one. And thus peace is achieved.

Puffing Billy

As tourist attractions go, Puffing Billy stands alone. It impressively manages to simultaneously be both incredibly iconic and somewhat lame.

The last time I rode Puffing Billy was way back in 1979 (or thereabouts) and it hasn’t changed a bit.

The train still chugs along the same track, it still gets stopped a few times along the way for impromptu maintenance (“is the handbrake off now, Geoff?”) and kids still hang their feet out of the windows.

In fact, I suspect it’s barely changed since the track first opened in 1900.

Despite attempts to jazz it up, like Wedding packages, the Thomas the Tank Engine trips and the oddly named “Wizard and Witches Express” (presumably Harry Potter’s people weren’t as amenable to licensing as Thomas’ were) it’s still just an old steam train which chugs along a century-old track through the foothills of the Dandenongs.

And ever may it remain so.

The brochures are all about the scenery, but really that’s only a small part of the deal.

It’s more about the sense of history.

A trip on Puffing Billy is a nostalgic journey back to a simpler age.

When train journeys were slow and uncomfortable. When you could throw tons of carbon into the atmosphere with gay abandon.

And when kids could stick their feet out of the train windows.

Good times.

Plastic Rocks and Other Oddities

Indoor rock climbing is a very odd activity in many ways, especially for people like me who generally prefer to shun physical activity.

The object is to climb a wall into which irregularly-shaped splodges of coloured plastic have been bolted and then . . . come down again.

And that's it.

A session of indoor rock climbing involves doing just that over and over again until your fingers lose their grip and your arms begin to tremble with the strain.

It really shouldn't be as much fun as it is. But it is.

This evening I went climbing with Gayle (who, despite the appearance of her blog, has actually been back in Australia for about two months) and I very quickly realised just how long it had been since I last climbed.

First I had to get the instructor to show me how to fit the harness (my own harness!) and then a wall rated just 15 (on a scale of 1 to 30) almost broke me.

It had been a long time. The last time I went climbing was in a place that burned down in 2004. And when it burned down, it was quite a while since I'd been.

So the plan is to go again next Monday, and possibly on a regular basis after that. We'll see how that pans out.

A Day at the Dentist

Before last Thursday, I hadn't been to the dentist in . . . actually I've got no idea. Ten years? Maybe more.

It was definitely time to go. Brushing my teeth was only going so far and I had the constant uncomfortable sensation that my breath was knocking people out.

I had to wait for a few weeks, what with dentists being in such high demand (apparently), so by the time it rolled around I was in the odd position of looking forward to it.

As dentist experiences go it was probably less traumatic than most. The water-jet clean was painful but comprehensive. The oddly abrasive yet gentle clean (using powder not paste) was . . . abrasive.

No major work is required. I just need to go back in January for a small filling.

The other thing making it less traumatic was the selection of Three Stooges stills on the ceiling. Right above the chair. To distract the patient, presumably.

The selection of stills was a little odd, though. Particularly this one:


It wasn't quite that bad. Almost. But not quite.

Reasonably Warm Now

It's two weeks yesterday since we moved, and I think today I experienced the first inkling of what it'll be like to feel really at home here.

You see, that, for me, is, in a round-about kind of way at least, the first sign that I'm settling in.

The next sign is the purchase of some completely unnecessary piece of furniture just because, you know, it'll go.

Anyway, back to feeling at home.

It could be that the wireless is finally working properly, but it's more likely because last night we had a semi-impromptu housewarming. A bunch of people came over in the time-honoured traditional fashion to partake of barbecue-charred meats and cold salads. And beer. Lots and lots of beer.

There's something about getting pleasantly drunk in the presence of friends that really makes you feel at home. Wherever you are.

And if you're actually at home, then all the better.

I Seem to Have Found the Problem

Apparently the modem I'm using (Dynalink RTA1046VW) doesn't like Macs to link to it using WEP wireless security.

It's as simple as that. Who would have thought it would be so picky?

Anyway, on a whim I changed the wireless security to WPA-PSK and now it's all fine. The PC works. The Mac works.

It's like some kind of freakin' CPUtopia. Ebony and (white rounded corners) Ivory.

So that's all fine then. And for anyone who's stumbled across this article while trying to find a solution for the same problem, you're most welcome.

The Matt is Back

When I say working, I obviously mean that in a very loose and intermittent sense.

We seem to have tracked down the source of the frequent and annoying brown-outs in our wireless, and it is . . .

My wife's iBook! Yes, for some reason the router we have cacks itself whenever there's a Mac in range.

Anyone have any ideas why this might be? I thought I'd throw it out there before going to talk to my ISP who, as has been previously shown, don't like Macs either.

It could be something to do with the landline we're running through which is experiencing problems of its own. In fact, the reason I'm up this early on a Saturday is to welcome the Telstra man, who it's confidently claimed will be arriving between 8 and 12. We'll see.

I fully intend to make up for the dreadful lack of posts here, as soon as something interesting happens.

It might be a while. I get the feeling that the US election (being as it was The Single Biggest Event of the Decade^TM) may have drained the world of the energy required to generate interesting content. Entropy, don't you know.

Having said that, I'm not at all sorry I missed out on being one of the myriad bloggers breathlessly covering every tiny movement.

That must have been exhausting.

Happiness is . . .

. . . a working ADSL connection.

It's only been 11 days, but it feels like it's been years,

Does this mean I have an addiction?

Probably. At least, according to the Chinese.

. . . And We're Back

We've finished moving into our cool new place. Or technically finished, anyway.

We're still surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, and I'm struck by how much they resemble the half-packed boxes we were surrounded by last week.

It all went down early last Saturday when the removalists turned up just before 7am (which is not technically the "between 7 and 8" that we were quoted). Fortunately we were ready to go, so everything was on the truck by 9 and unloaded at the new place by 10.30.

Once we hit the ground at the new place, a few important things came to light. No dishwasher. Need a new one. Old washing machine doesn't fit. Need a new one. DVD player (which was on its last legs anyway) didn't survive the move. Need a new one. Aaaargh.

Most alarmingly, our previous landline provider Optus apparently aren't able to service the new place, so after years of conscientious objection it's back to Telstra.

Decorating-wise my lovely wife has put together a color palette consisting of clotted cream, cool taupe, dishevelled bronze and raspberry fuchsia. We currently have multi-coloured patches on various walls as a result of testing a number of tester pots.

Anyway, things are almost back to normal. The most inconvenient thing at the moment is that we're stuck using dial-up until the ADSL gets reconnected.

We'll be resuming our irregularly scheduled programming soon.