selective violence

After cataloguing the Brady Campaign’s calls for measures that (even if ideally implemented) would have done nothing to reduce the body count in Red Lake, “Lady Liberty” observes:

You see, there’s another fact we’re hearing very little about. Security guards, it seems, are politically correct, but armed security guards are not. And so an unarmed man bravely — and futilely — tried to stop someone who quite literally outgunned him. There are those who consider him heroic, but that’s likely scant comfort to his family. Even less comforting is the notion that if he had had a weapon of his own, he would very probably have been able to end the incident right there at the school door. It wouldn’t have been a happy day. The accused shooter, his grandfather, and his grandfather’s girlfriend would probably still be dead. But a teacher and five students would be alive and breathing today to thank that heroic security guard, who would in turn still be alive to brush off their thanks and say that shucks, he was only doing his job.

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upload induction

Previously muttered:

I often ponder what life might be like among Uploads: human minds which have been scanned into machines, leaving the flesh behind and spending most of their time in simulated worlds. . . .

Lately I’ve pondered the plight of persons uploaded unexpectedly, such as corpsicles who were frozen vitrified before uploading became possible. (For purposes of the scenario, I assume it’s easier to scan and simulate a frozen brain than to revive the cryonaut in the flesh.) What should they experience when they wake up?

Scenario A. You wake alone and nude in a sunny little room with no furniture other than the bed and a big mirror. Out the windows you see blue sky, with clouds, in all directions. An open doorway leads to a wardrobe with garments of every description. Once dressed, there’s nothing to do but go through the next door, down some stairs into a larger room where people wait to greet you. A technician briefly explains what has happened to you, and several of your friends lead you on a tour of the new multiverse.

Scenario B. You wake in a hospital bed; a couple of white-coats verify that you can hear and see and walk, and assure you that most of your questions will be answered in the orientation session beginning shortly.

Scenario C. You wake in a four-poster bed; a cartoon Jeeves greets you while opening the curtains, asks whether you’d like a bath, and says visitors are expected for lunch. It soon becomes apparent that this apparition knows literally nothing beyond its role as a valet.

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QotD

I like daylight savings time because it ensures that, no matter how busy I am, I remember to curse FDR at least twice a year. —Travis Corcoran

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mere linkage

answering the hermit crab shell shortage with plastic (cited in November by Vicki Rosenzweig)

We acknowledge that such trans-species caregiving may in fact be a form of control. In recognition of this paradox, the new structures are aesthetically based on the architecture of Giuseppe Terragni, an Italian Fascist active in the 1930s.

clever simple Flash game

Hopkin green frog: behind the scenes

Montana legislature condemns Patriot Act

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chew slowly

Met a man the other day who said his son had rung up a fortune in dental bills during an amphetamine habit; something I’d never heard of before. Now why wasn’t that mentioned in hi-skool “health” propaganda class? It’s scarier than most of what was.

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fontoma

The latest issue of The Freeman shows a complete redesign, with a curious choice of typefaces. The body is Goudy. Main titles and pull-quotes are Times Roman. Running heads and the titles of reviewed books are in Myriad. By-lines and sub-heads are Franklin Gothic (or something similar).

I’ve nothing against Goudy, but I don’t think it’s only my notorious conservatism that makes me prefer the old design, which was entirely(?) in various forms of Minion (serif) and Myriad (sans) — two faces designed to go together.

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our television heritage

My Favorite Martian is available on DVD, but not The Addams Family or The Wild Wild West or Get Smart. Does that seem right to you?

We recently watched the first two episodes of The Protectors (1972), which wanted to be The Avengers — even quoting from the latter’s title narration at one point, contrasting the “professional” with the “talented amateur”. The plots were tolerably interesting, but the sparkle of the model was missing; as if Gerry Anderson took some leftover Avengers scripts and said, “Okay, now let’s cut out all the humour.”

Today I watched the first two episodes of The Saint (1962), and was surprised at how trite they are: a failed theatre producer plans to kill his third wife for the insurance; a gangster kidnaps an American governor’s daughter to get his brother out of the electric chair, and guess what, the Saint fails to spot the obvious corrupt policeman. Unlike the Saint of the books, this one is not in the habit of working alone; there’s nothing to distinguish him from any number of other teevee detectives, except that early in each episode someone says “hey, that’s the famous Simon Templar!” and a halo briefly appears over his head.

The Saint was, I gather, a very popular series. I shudder to imagine its competition. It would have been better as a half-hour show — and even then it might drag in comparison to its rough contemporary Danger Man.

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