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You cannot behave like a militant atheist all the time. The idea of God/Gods/the supernatural is important to most of us, because you can find strength, relief, resolution, even joy in it. In the most intense times of your life, it helps you cope with the magnitude of reality. So don't be an asshole to people who believe in some God. They need the idea. You might need it, only you haven't been unfortunate enough to ending up there (or fortunate enough, some might say).

As Regina Spektor puts it:

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one's laughing at God
When it's gotten real late and their kid's not back from the party yet
No one laughs at God when their airplane start to uncontrollably shake
No one's laughing at God
When they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else
And they hope that they're mistaken
No one laughs at God
When the cops knock on their door and they say we got some bad news, sir
No one's laughing at God when there's a famine or fire or flood
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they're 'bout to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious, ha ha
Ha ha
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God
When they've lost all they've got and they don't know what for
No one laughs at God on the day they realize
That the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one's laughing at God when they're saying their goodbyes
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they're 'bout to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughing at God in hospital
No one's laughing at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God, we're all laughing with God

Religion might be valuable as a personal thing. As a social/public institution, it must be destroyed. We are long past due realizing that we don't need it to define our ethics/moral, that the state is now (must be) capable of providing all the social services associated to its institutions in the past, and that we are better off without those potential (and many times actual) nurseries of fascism.

We need to be done with those creepy groups of people that already know what's good and proper for everybody and will ram their ideas of the world down all of our throats.

As Regina Spektor puts it:

you know that statue
that statue of baby jesus
in the window
in the window of the 99 cent store
last night I saw the owner kiss it
and whisper in its ear
I was walking home from walgreen's
and he did not hear me see him
and on the
very very next morning
all the subway cars were hallelu-leluing
welcome back the baby king, the baby king
all the believers they were smiling
and winking at each other
I could honestly say I was scared for my life
they said, all the non-believers they get to eat dirt
and the believers get to spit on their graves...
you know that statue
that statue of baby jesus
in the window
in the window of the 99 cent store
they've been showing it on the news
it was thirty times its size
with a megaphone and a heart-shaped bruise
it was hovering in the skies
and all the
subway cars were hallelu-lelu-leluing, hallejuah
welcome back the baby king, the baby king
all the believers they were smiling
and winking at each other
I could honestly say I was scared for my life
they said, all the non-believers they get to eat dirt
and the believers get to spit on their graves...
believe!...
you know that statue
that statue of baby jesus
in the window
in the window of the 99 cent store
when I woke up I ran and bought it
and locked it in my closet
with a little bread and water
and a flashlight and a first aid kit til he grows

(Comments? email me! jerojasro AT devnull.li)

Posted Wed Nov 30 23:29:30 2016 Tags:

One of the things that always baffled me from Asimov's "Robot" series, was: if the robot's ultimate goal is to look after mankind's welfare, why don't they take care of the scientific research? Why do they rely on humans for that? After all, they are sentient, can read minds, have far more speed and processing power than any human.

In Asimov's universe, even though the robots know that scientific progress is useful for the preservation of mankind, they always rely on third parties (meatbags) for research, and coming up with new developments.

After finishing "The End of Eternity", I kind of suspect why things are like that for him:

"The greatest good?" asked Noys in a detached tone that seemed to make a mockery of the phrase. "What is that? Your machines tell you. Your Computaplexes. But who adjusts the machines and tells them what to weigh in the balance? The machines do not solve problems with greater insight than men do, only faster. Only faster!"

I can't say I wholly agree with him; I suspect things will change in the future. But, at least today, he's absolutely right. As long as we use computers only as minions to carry out our exquisitely specified desires, we won't have anything better than a fancier/faster/dumber human.

Posted Tue Jul 8 14:11:43 2014
A/B
He stood upon the last
Bastions of the place
Looked out on the ruins
With thunder in his face
An introverted spectacle
In the flowers on the rocks
The daisies on the ramparts
Blowing free
His heart was divided
Clouds gathered in the sky
The belfry made of wood and steel
Was silenced in it’s cry
Something must have happened
What, he wouldn’t say
But shown within
The wider lens of history
[Chorus:]
His mission the transmission
Of technology
One cannon trained upon the church
This one caught his eye
“to keep the bishop in his place”
He muttered with a sigh
His mood was melancholy
His attitude severe
His inner burden
Weighed upon him mightily
A bird as never seen in books
Flew in overhead
A kind of dove it might have been
But not a sound was said
All the ancient knowledge lay
In pieces on the ground
The cause of all his suffering
Was not for love of me.
[Chorus:]
His mission the transmission
Of technology

Compare with:

You say you love me but you never beep me
You always promise but you never date me
I try to fax but it's busy, always
I try the network but you crash the gateways
You never spend your nights with me
You don't go out with other girls either
You only love your collider
I fill you screen with hearts and roses
I fill your mail file with lovely phrases
They all come back: "invalid user"
You never let me into your computer
You never spend your nights with me
You don't go out with other girls either
You prefer your collider
I gave you a golden ring to show you my love
You went to stick it in a printed circuit
To fix a voltage leak in your collector
You plug my feelings into your detector
You never spend your nights with me
You don't go out with other girls either
You prefer your collider
You only love your collider
Your collider.
Posted Tue Jul 8 13:56:41 2014

There is a CARDIOID in my cup!

(or is it a nephroid?)

Posted Tue Jul 8 13:56:41 2014

Ese local existe (y ha tenido ese letrero) desde antes de que yo conociera Linux.

Posted Tue Feb 18 21:27:17 2014 Tags:

(come semillas de girasol)

Hum, en últimas es difícil comer semillas: para abrirlas necesito usar al menos una mano, y la boca. Generalmente las dos manos y la boca.

Apuesto a que hace falta una cantidad de inteligencia no-trivial para lograr comer este tipo de semillas.

... las semillas de las plantas como herramientas del Monolito, planteando retos evolutivos para especies promisorias en la Tierra...

¿Cuál será la semilla más difícil de acceder?

Tienen que ser los cocos.

Maldito coco, lo lancé contra el piso, con fuerza, ¡Y rebotó! ...

¿Qué pasaría si hago chocar un coco contra un 1100?

¿Qué animales comen cocos? Deben ser pocas especies...

(busca en internet)

ajá, conque no soy el primero en preguntarme al respecto...

¡Miremos las respuestas!

Posted Wed Jan 29 20:48:30 2014
34

— El Gran Asma de Dios.
— Ponte tú a crear de la nada. Es algo que se hace una sola vez en la vida. Para soplar el mundo, como se sopla una ampolla de vidrio, Dios necesita contraerse sobre sí mismo, para tomar aliento, y después emite el largo silbo luminoso de las diez sefirot.
— ¿Silbo o luz?
— Dios sopla y se hizo la luz.
— Multimedia.

Posted Sat Oct 26 21:30:15 2013

Whenever you're called on to make up your mind,
and you're hampered by not having any,
the best way to solve the dilemma, you'll find,
is simply by spinning a penny.
No — not so that chance shall decide the affair
while you're passively standing there moping;
but the moment the penny is up in the air,
you suddenly know what you're hoping.

        -- Piet Hein.

Posted Fri Oct 11 20:12:11 2013

Ayer intenté hacer helado casero. Sin éxito, en realidad. El análisis post-mortem sugiere que:

  1. El agua salada se mezcló con la leche.
  2. No hubo suficiente hielo, y la leche no alcanzó a congelarse (que entrara sal tampoco ayudó, en realidad.)

La sopa resultante ... no fue mal almuerzo. (Hah)

Es un nuevo día, ataquemos el problema. Ahora usaré dos bolsas para aislar mejor la leche. También necesitaré más hielo, así que necesito más bandejas para hielo. Así que salgo a comprar un par de bandejas. Al colsubsidio, porque a dónde más.

Consigo las bandejas, voy a la caja. La fila es enorme. Día soleado, y con viento, que hace que la fila no importe.

Detrás de mí está la versión camionero colombiano católico analfabeta de Danny Trejo. Hasta acaba de salir de misa, y todo (me enteraría después). Tiene una cesta repleta de chucherías. Está de más decir que repleta >> 10, la cantidad de artículos máxima para esta caja. Su cesta pesa, por lo que la deja en el piso, y la hace avanzar con el pie.

Cuando llego al último pasillo (al que está perpendicular a las cajas), dejo que la fila avance un poco delante de mí. Tratando de respetar la zona antibloqueo/evitando que me empujen con los carros de mercado.

Por supuesto que Danny quiere avanzar, así que sigue pateando su mercado, e intenta sobrepasarme.

— Señor, no hace falta afanarse. Dejemos ese espacio.
— ¡¿Por qué no avanza?! ¡¿No ve la fila?!
— La idea es que dejemos ese espacio, para que otros puedan pasar. Su cesta estorba.
— (sube el tono de voz) ¡¿Por qué no ayuda?! ¡¿Sí ve?! ¡Por eso estamos como estamos!

(sí, dijo eso, literalmente)

A pesar de eso, pareció entender el mensaje. Cuando pasó alguien más, con su carro de compras, quitó su cesta del camino. Y se pegó a mi espalda. Porque ya había ocupado ese espacio, claro. Lo entendió, pero era demasiado pedir que actuara en consecuencia.

Sospecho que se sintió mal, porque trató de hacer charla, mientras esperábamos. O, trató de deshacerse de mí, mencionando varias veces que podía facturar una compra pequeña, como la mía, en la panadería (en el otro extremo del supermercado). Quién sabe. Hice lo posible por ignorarlo sin ofenderlo.

Llego a la caja. De la nada se materializa una señora delante de mí, que me pide la deje pagar sus cosas, apenas dos.

(Es un día soleado, y el viento sopla, y se escucha en las copas de los árboles. Como en las vacaciones de diciembre, con mi abuelita.)

Es una señora de unos sesenta años. Manos arrugadas, con manchas. Con gafas. Habla con pausas. «Pase.»

(Nota al margen: cada vez me convenzo más y más de que tengo una cara de buena papa inocultable. En lugares públicos, con gente/amigos alrededor, siempre me piden a mí ese tipo de favores. Cara de pichón, diría Bart Simpson.)

Le entrega sus artículos a la cajera, le entrega el dinero. La cajera factura.

— Ay. Señorita... y para, ... para, ... para los puntos ...
— No, señora, ya facturé.

La señora hizo mala cara, recibió el cambio, y se fue.

(No, no me enorgullece que me asocien con uds., compatriotas, y con su puta invalidez cultural.)

Posted Sun Oct 6 10:57:53 2013 Tags:

Adele's Set fire to the rain always reminds me of Edward Teller, worried about the possibility of setting the atmosphere on fire as a consequence of nuclear fission. More specifically, he thought that the energy released by a nuclear explosion might also cause spontaneous nuclear fusion of elements in the atmosphere, and that the heat/energy released would cause even more fusions, thus becoming a self-sustaining reaction that would eventually burn all of the atmosphere and destroy the Earth.

Quoting from here:

Nevertheless, the terrible possibility was on people's minds. Enrico Fermi, one of the most brilliant of the atomic scientists, offered to take bets on whether or not the bomb would ignite the atmosphere, and if so, whether it would merely destroy New Mexico or the entire world. His macabre humor was not appreciated.

At that moment, it was enough of a concern to make a proper evaluation of the possibility of such an event. Turns out it isn't possible (but we didn't need that paper to check it, did we?). Still, quite interesting, for a thought experiment.

(tremenda tusa, para incendiar la lluvia)

Posted Wed Aug 21 20:34:36 2013 Tags: