Shedding a Selective (Star)Light on Life

“We are star stuff” ~ Carl Sagan

Apart from (and often because of) Moby’s 2003 techno hit, I know a lot of people who love this concept. It’s a very easy concept to love.

“We are all made of stars.”

To think that we, living our lives now as we eat crisps and browse the internet, are the very stars that mankind once worshipped is a deliriously romantic notion. It carries the connotation that each and every one of us is special for some vague reason that just happens to be so uplifting and mystical that it transcends the obvious problems inherent when combining “every” with “special.”

It’s also a great example of how science can discover things so astonishing they can appear to reinforce spirituality.  However, whilst many people love this quote so much that they have t-shirts and tattoos and sometimes go as far as to list it on facebook, they’re usually taking an overly narrow view of the concept that misses out on the truly revealing part of the whole star-born spectacle.

We’re not the first to be “made of stars.” The elements we’re speaking about, the carbon, nitrogen and other heavy elements sent forth through the galaxy from exploding super nova, have been a part of the Earth since its inception, during which time they’ve formed everything from mammoths to amoeba. When a rabbit eats a plant and uses it to build and repair its own body, in some literal sense the plant becomes a part of the rabbit. Then the rabbit get’s eaten by a fox and they both become part of the fox and perhaps the fox defecates or dies and fertilises the soil from which more plants grow. It’s like a scientifically verifiable form of reincarnation that resonates with and justifies our sense that all life is profoundly connected.

Special and magical and star-born and interconnected are we to be made of the same once-celestial elements that have been shared through a thousand cycles of birth, death and defecation.

To just say we’re all made of stars is to ignore a large part of reality in order to project a certain light on ourselves. It requires cherry-picking our favourite images so we can imagine we somehow share their qualities of bringing warmth and light to the world. But we’re not just made of stars; we’re also the latest step in a grand journey through life, death and digestive systems. Not just vast, space-set chemical reactions but living plants, animals and all the corpses and faecal matter in between.

So yes, with a certain, self-congratulatory sense of marvel we can honestly say that “we are all made of stars,” but I think it’s equally pertinent to remember that we’re also full of shit.

“Human beings have a demonstrated talent for self-deception when their emotions are stirred.” ~ Carl Sagan.

Affably Greeting Acquaintances (Aka Para Bellum)

 “Making the enemy’s road long and torturous, lure him along it by baiting him with easy gains. Set out after he does, yet arrive before him.” ~ Sun Tzu Like any outwardly pleasant social interaction I find it best to approach the handshake as a battle to the death. Polite greetings are a war and whilst war is supposedly pointless, I still intend to win by any and all means necessary.

We’ve already looked at the shameful de-humanisation of the corporate palm clutch and the matter that its user clearly doesn’t care who you are. With that in mind, strategy will focus primarily on the far more competitive and untrained handshake of people who think squeezing stronger than you will somehow earn them respect.

The first step in any battle plan is to look at the weapons available to us, of which we have two primary tools. One is physical strength. However the second and far more deadly is the insidious threat of slight social discomfort. Sun Tzu correctly ascertained that we must “avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak.” Most people employing the “firm” handshake will have faith in their physical strength but are unlikely to be gripped by any obsessive social paranoia comparable to my own.

In any case, it would be unfair to expect everyone to have the time to train cracking nuts between their fingers and ripping coconuts apart with their bare hands to build muscular strength so instead we shall employ what 17^th Century Japanese martial genius Miyamoto Musashi described as “Tai No Sen”; the trap of false vulnerability.

An ideal strategy would be as follows:

1.)    Enter gently, calmly. Whilst this may appear to give the opponent an opening to establish strength, they can visibly over commit and concede slight social discomfort.

2.)    Allow a steady increase of pressure. There is no hurry. There is a universally accepted time frame for handshaking which is actually the secret weapon leading to:

3.)    Peak squeeze, comparable or slightly exceeding their own if provoked. This occurs at the moment when we all sense the shake should end.

If you’re opponent has entered too strong they may have expended their best squeeze already. Regardless, you will have the final physical say and have forced your enemy to gamble social discomfort if they wish to mount a counter attack. Now, even if I feel my hand snap from an aggressive grip-trump I can play it off at the awkwardness of them holding my hand a little too long. The message to even the most mountainous of men? Yes, even if you could break my bones, you will never take back my slight, invisible profit that everyone in the room now thinks that I’m a nicer and more laid back person than you. They’ll never know the truth.

Protest and Porpoise

I feel sympathetic for the Occupy Leeds movement. It consists of approximately ten people, two tents and a sign. The lack of company doesn’t diminish the conviction or spirit of the few who are taking part but at least larger numbers might enable them to survive the oncoming winter by huddling together and sharing body heat; like penguins. Much has been said about the occupy movement and almost none of it concerning any sensible rhetoric from either side; the protests as a whole being deliberately vague and the large media outlets with big corporate interests being deliberately puerile. So whilst the amoebic-esque squishy-ness of the Occupy movement’s aims has left it vulnerable to much abuse and misrepresentation (you can’t drink coffee and tighten bank controls! That’d be madness!) I feel a desire to connect with those lonely few in Leeds on a more human level. I want to help them as people, not just protesters.

Certainly I could just walk across the road and join them but there’s a slightly uncomfortable air of that house party no one showed up to and I expend enough energy trying to limit human contact as it is. Thankfully, I’ve conjured up a brave solution for all of the movement’s issues, be they numerical, presentational or thermal:

The Occupy protesters team up with the ever ready climate folk, take onboard some discussably huggable mascots and deliver an exciting, visual message en masse whilst simultaneously providing a fun day out for all the family.

Just whatever you do, don’t mention or debate any of the protesters' specific proposals for change. You can probably avoid them well enough by not looking for any.

Time Travel or Vague Similarities?

A conservative government, mass unemployment, austerity measures, riots, guns, Brixton, bombs being dropped in close proximity to minarets in the middle east. It has been widely remarked that we appear to be reliving the 80’s. That or we're living out prophesies made by The Clash, which were mistaken for commentary when they were incidentally released in the 80’s. However, if we take a step back from 80’s recall (1980’s being by far the most popular era to recall) and the planned remake of classic 80’s action, sci-fi flick Total Recall, a larger pattern emerges. Much like the big crunch theory, wherein the universe will cease to expand and contract back towards its original state, we appear to have reached the end of time itself and are rocketing backwards through history.

Not too long ago, Take That made music history, breaking records and selling out arena tour dates. At the start of the decade in which this happened, the UK joined the US, led by president George Bush in an invasion targeted at stopping Saddam Hussein. The world declared that terrorism had abruptly changed the world forever. This was both the 1990’s and the 2000’s. Suitably, the mirror line falls neatly around the turn of the second millennium.

So we’ve just had 2 decades of the 90’s and now we’re into the 80’s which is fine. Surely we now have a keen map of history to follow in reverse thereby removing all anxiety about future events:

Over in the US a minority group may soon get crucial, nationwide recognition of their civil rights and if online petitions by The Sun newspaper are to be believed, we’ll have public hanging making a return in the UK. This will bring us nicely back to the 1960’s, happily accompanied by Led Zeppelin, which will be even more suitable this time as we rapidly approaching a more prominent era for their non-led name sakes.

If current global trends continue, then an indirectly economic issue will lead the UK and US among others to distrust socialist China and the slashing of social support at home will force the majority of women into roles as full time home makers; bringing us into the 1950’s. As a neat addition, colour blindness brought on by radiation will indirectly bring back black and white film. After that we have some wars and child labour but at least any lingering overpopulation crisis will be resolved by plague epidemics as predicted by the hypothesised oncoming failure of antibiotics.

It’s a flawless and entirely irrefutable theory unless someone manages to pick any decade and find at least three similarities with today to make the claim that it is being relived. Such as the 1930’s when an economic crash brought on by reckless greed led to mass unemployment, extreme right wing rhetoric grew across Europe and a notable musician from the world of rhythm & blues died at the age of 27 from mysterious circumstances surrounding intoxicants. If that’s too vague, I’m talking Robert Johnson. And if you were wondering; yes there were riots in London. Most decades include a riot in London.

How comparable any of these things actually are the modern era are is largely dependant upon how much of the context and scale we ignore and how much we remember to forget that artists have a famously low life expectancy and people do crazy things whenever they have too much or too little money.

NOTW As Free Press (if we ignore the prison metaphore.)

A lot has been said about the News of the World debacle. Although during the discussion some very important angles of the situation have been too widely ignored.  Sure. I’d concede that they may have committed “a few” illegal acts (possibly over 4,000) but in the rush to dish in on the righteous outrage\juicy gossip, I feel that we’ve forgotten about the real victim here: freedom. Both freedom to and freedom from.

 I’m talking about the freedom of journalists to report matters of public interest, such as whether the parents of missing children are worried, or if people feel sad when their loved ones die in terrorist attacks. Possibly the sudden rise in anti-freedom of the press sentiment is a backlash of the post-wikileaks era. A paranoia brought on by the uncertain legal world of electronic communication.

 To those bearing such sentiment I would demand that they think back to the good old days of reporting when, with police approval, members of the tabloid press would have to break into the homes of victim’s families and rifle through drawers for letters, study the placement of family portraits and smell pillows in case some salty residue might betray a mother crying herself to sleep the previous night. That was real journalism; a vast array of maverick semi-private investigators funded by advertisers and people who like to read slosh over toast. In this case, journalism is just another facet of life being made easier by emerging technology.

This brings me to the other side of the magnanimous coin of liberty; freedom from. I’m quite certain you’d agree that many people suffering personal tragedy don’t want to be hounded by more than 60 million people they don’t know to explain all the details. Surely then it’s better that these people are left alone whilst we pay someone to illegally access their personal information and relay it to us in print. Done properly this will be accompanied by a pixelated photo of them taken from behind a hedge.

 Much like Kenneth Clarke’s proposal to reduce rape charges for an early plea of guilty; we cut out the suffering of the victims by cutting down on all the other troublesome parts of the equation that cause them to be actively involved in the legal procedures concerning them and the tribulations they have endured.

 Laws, much like anything else, are a matter of balance. If you’re willing to break the law and risk prison to find out whether a pop singer is happy with her new boyfriend then by all means you’ve clearly earned that private information and should be supported. If you’re caught in the act you will even have access to legal aid.

This can only be right; legal or otherwise, you need help.

Surrendering a Seat VS A Perilous Escape

 Unless you’re Rosa Parks, giving away your seat on a bus or train is usually the right thing to do.  Often when using underground railway systems I won’t take a seat at all just to save me the worrisome hand over moment. What if someone other than the intended beneficiary tries to step in? Does etiquette require me to tackle them?

 This particular issue of the transference of a privileged seating position is further complicated when on theLondonunderground; a place in a city where conversations with strangers are typically reserved for armed robbery.

 So how does one manage to offer a seat to an elderly or disabled person in a city where everyone’s as eager to avoid human contact as I am?

 For reasons such as this I made a crucial error during a recent tube journey whereby the vast influx of people, general confusion and my being half asleep caused me to miss the ideal window of transference.

 I’d lost the moment.

 I couldn’t just pick a person at random they’d think something had happened or someone had just told me to move. There was no motivation beyond being too slow to realise that I should’ve given up my seat already; and I’d only bring that fact more strongly into view.

 How many people more deserving of a seat than I were in the crowd? Five? Seven? I couldn’t be sure but I could at least safely assume that every single person on that train thought I was the worst human being who had ever lived.

 I wanted to move. I wanted to say something.

 Is saying something actually more of a faux pas on the London Underground?

 I glanced about at other seated passengers in the hope of making myself feel relatively less of a curse upon human decency.

 Some of them looked young; strong even. But how could I be sure they didn’t all have chronic back pain or severe ligament injuries?

 Was I the only one?

 However, as my stop approached my mind had returned to a state of utter tranquillity.

 It’d taken me longer than I may have imagined (And never again shall I get on public transport without having drawn out several test flow charts for myself) but the answer was blindingly obvious.

 The train stopped.

 I reached above my head, grabbed a handle and heaved my body upright.

 “Excuse me.”

 The words eased from my mouth like a gentle breeze.

 One hand gently guided passengers either side.

 The other grabbed seriously to chair tops and other handles as I limped painfully towards the door.

 Passengers graciously moved aside for this unfortunate individual.

 It took a lot of mock-effort to disembark.

 That’ll teach them to think I was a healthy young man refusing to give up my seat.

 I am disabled. Just not physically.

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Dying Children Sell Better Than Sex

The UK held a referendum last week to decide whether or not we should make a minor adjustment to our voting system. The “no to change” won the referendum by an astonishing 68%.

 What makes this most surprising is that one of the primary campaign angles was “Vote No or a Child Will Die.”

 Seriously; 

 I’ve often attempted to come up with the most ridiculous and offensive marketing campaign imaginable (on the off chance I ever had enough money to rent advertising space nation wide and enough indifference to neglect the amount of homeless children who’d have to look at it.) However, this Prime Minister backed, serious political campaign had only previously occurred in my early drafts and was quickly dismissed as “too crude.”

 I’ve decided that for once, perhaps I should humbly accept that I was wrong.

 Claiming that a child will die unless you follow an order, irrespective of the veracity of that claim, just might be the solution to all of our problems.

 I’ve made a few examples below:

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Unfortunately, it appears that veracity is the Achilles heel of the dead child argument. Oxfam has had to up its game to “these children will get nice clothes and be well educated” rather than just “survive”.

 Some day they might grow up to be business people.

 Some day they might address the imbalance that has left third world children slaving away to make trainers for less money than I might stop to pick up off the floor.

 Some day they will own global corporations and the advertising posters will look like this:

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Lost in the Supermarket

 Standing on the fresh meats aisle of Morrison’s, I realise that the human race will not survive another thousand years.  When I think about war, political and corporate corruption, I can never fully escape the horrific realisation that all these things are being controlled by people. You want a measure of how competent people are? You needn’t look further than the difficulties faced by a group of three people trying to walk down a five person wide shopping isle.

 Agreed pathways blocked. Trolleys parked hap-hazardly. An old woman stares at a peach and before thinking to say “excuse me” someone equally absent minded gently battering rams her with their four wheeled wrecking ball. The isle comes to a standstill. Shopper’s mouths agape. No one really reacting. This is how car accidents happen. Wars.

 Why should a race that can’t manage to navigate a super market safely be trusted with weapons of mass destruction?

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 I consider saying something. I decide that what these people need is a strong leader to slap them back into line:

 “You, green-shirt, stand there. Woman in red go through. Short boy pick up that old woman. Old woman pick up that peach.”

 Shopping at the speed of thought would be an instant reality and all thanks to the benefits of dictatorship.

 I sigh. Look longingly at 300 g of turkey steak. I just want to eat. I don’t want to rule this supermarket with an iron fist. When we submit unquestioningly to a loud voice and strong hand gestures we may find efficiency but at what cost? Our humanity?

 No, for the sake of keeping our humanity we must protect that freedom and with it the freedom to fail at basic tasks such as picking up a piece of fruit or stepping once to the left. We’re nothing without our free minds… our stupid, dull, barely functioning minds.

 At this point I realise that I’ve had time to think out this entire diatribe and yet people still haven’t figured out this “look where you’re going and be willing to step slightly to the side” policy. The fluctuation between acceptance and outrage begins another cycle.

 I catch a glimpse in the corner of my eye; a man trying to reach the chicken. I apologise and step aside. I’d cost him a good four seconds of his life whilst I’d been blaming everyone else. Am I no better?

 This is my sacrifice. This is my weekly shopping.

One Glance Can Prevent a Vendetta

People who don’t hold the door for others should be held in the same regard as persistent drink drivers and people who refuse to pay child support.

 The act of glancing over a shoulder and applying at least one finger’s worth of extension when passing through a doorway demonstrates a basic level of common decency and respect for your fellow human beings.

 Inspired by the recent democratic uprisings across the middle East I decided that it was time that I too make a stand… although naturally a stand in which I negate the possibility of coming across as “unnecessary” or “overly self assured.”

 I was walking behind a large man in his twenties; 220lbs of body mass and not an ounce of consideration. When he ducked through a closing doorway without any attempt to play keepy-open, I reacted instantly.

 I shoulder checked the closing door, made the loudest possible bang against it’s side by slapping it with my hand and then snapped my head backwards as if I’d take the blow face first. As hands-free-door-David turned to look I was already crumpling to one knee in a style I would later feel was maybe a little too theatrical but effective none-the-less.

 “OW! F*CK!”

“Are you all right there mate?” He queries, rushing to my side (and pushing the door open to do it.)

“Ah… I’m fine… fine... I just… I thought you were going to hold the door like a normal person would.”

 Silence.

 He was either stunned by the revelation that his entire life had been spent in the service of destroying several thousand years worth of human progress and cooperation or he thought I was being a weird little prick.

 I decided to hammer the point home in one of the hammiest moments of public performance I’ve ever delivered.

 Rising to my feet slowly, I check through the gap in my fingers that he’s watching closely.

 “It’s just…”

 The hand falls away slowly. Floats onto his shoulder blade. Our eyes lock. My mouth is straight as an arrow.

 “You should be careful.”

 He nods numbly.

 I turn and proceed through the door, correctly pausing for a moment to see if he’s to follow.

 It later occurs to me that the hyper-severity with which I did the last line might mean that he now thinks I’m a mentally unstable man with a vendetta against him.

 In either case, whenever he walks through a doorway now I like to think that he glances over his shoulder. Whether that’s because I successfully made him into a better person or he’s afraid I’m following him is largely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.