Came across the following quote, attributed to Carl Sagan, at the BBC's tech blog:

"We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology."

It dovetails loosely with some trains of thought that have been zipping through my addlepated pate of late: has the world's socioeconomic structure now evolved to a place where economies based on services, rather than on goods, are no longer viable? And if so, what level of technology will become/stay part of our day-to-day lives? Are we destined to return to rural communities, where we remain "on the grid", but each have our own crops (be they victory gardens or actual farms)? Will separationism rise again, returning manufacturing to a domestic basis? And if our education system continues to dumb itself down, how will we dig ourselves out of our current scientific hole?

surveillance says: contemplative

Quote that struck me today:

"Well, it is fiction, and it has science in it, and it is set (mostly) in the future, but the labels are meaningless. I can't see the point of labelling a book like a pre-packed supermarket meal. There are books worth reading and books not worth reading. That's all."

- Jeanette Winterson, author of The Stone Gods

Source: guardian.co.uk Books Blog, 28 Jan 2009

surveillance says: tired

Faced with a pile of gorgeous cheese, what's the first thought that comes to mind (other than eating it, of course!)?


( 12 icons follow )

surveillance says: pleased
background: windows rattling in the wind

Those of you with yarn stashes will no doubt relate:




Source image was the 25-May-2008 edition of 'Mother Goose & Grimm', by Mike Peters.


(Snurch, fold, spindle, modify, etc. at your discretion, for LJ and other non-commercial Fair Use; credit as you deem appropriate.)

surveillance says: awake

In honor of the occasion:



First two icons are from a Norman Rockwell painting (one has the Golden Rule in tiny text at bottom). Fourth icon is from a Quint Buchholz painting, with a quote from The Phantom Tollbooth.


(Snurch, fold, spindle, modify, etc. at your discretion, for LJ and other non-commercial Fair Use; credit as you deem appropriate.)

surveillance says: jubilant

Three icons in honor of Andrew Wyeth, who passed away last week:




(Snurch, fold, spindle, modify, etc. at your discretion, for LJ and other non-commercial Fair Use; credit as you deem appropriate.)

surveillance says: accomplished

Meme from quietspaces:

Grab the book nearest you. Right now. Turn to page 56. Find the fifth sentence. Post that sentence along with these instructions in your LiveJournal. Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST.

"He took the chair Potts offerred."

- Tony Hillerman's Hunting Badger (HarperCollins, NY, 1999).


Not the most exciting of results -- but comfortingly ordinary. And in these 'ludicrous speed' times, a little quiet comfort is a lovely thing.

surveillance says: awake

It's so frigid across the Northern hemisphere, a little childhood warmth seems in order -- so how about some Dulac illustrations?

These are all from Hans Christian Andersen tales:




(Snurch, fold, spindle, modify, etc. at your discretion, for LJ and other non-commercial Fair Use; credit as you deem appropriate.)

surveillance says: cold

In honor of last night's farewell address from W:




(Snurch, fold, spindle, modify, etc. at your discretion, for LJ and other non-commercial Fair Use. Source image was the 28-Oct-2007 edition of 'Hagar the Horrible', by Chris Browne; credit as you deem appropriate.)

surveillance says: calm

I've been writing a bit.

Well, that's oversimplifying. It would be more accurate to say that Fred and I have been hopscotching the used bookstore[1] scene, resulting in what I described to a friend yesterday as "tottering towers of tomes" throughout what we laughingly refer to as our living space. When you can't make dinner because there are books piled all over every flat surface in your kitchen, and they're piled all over your kitchen because you've run out of room in the bedroom, study, living room and hallway, things have gotten out of hand. Faced with the immediate need to Do Something about this crisis, I chose the obvious course of action: I went and curled up on the bed with paper and a fountain pen filled with green ink, and began to write something for the nieces and neffers.

Well, that's a fib. The nieces and neffers are fast growing up: Fred and I went to a birthday party for The College Man last weekend, celebrating a bit early before he had to head back to the wilds of Kansas for Spring semester. At 19, it's not like he really has the free time for children's stories, and his siblings aren't far behind him. So, the story is for me, really, because I don't know how to deal with the crisis at hand, and I'm too frustrated to be able to lose myself in reading (oh, the irony), and the whole state of the world and humanity in general is reminding me of my pledge to one of my sisters, years ago, that I would never grow up -- so retreating into childhood really is just me honoring a promise, not wimping out on facing Life in the Big Bad World. (That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

Anyway.

The story is a fairytale-ization of the Tottering Towers of Tomes problem. I hope it turns out to have a satisfying solution, so that I can copy it, in the Real World...


[1] I hate that phrasing. It always sounds like we're out shopping for a slightly dented bookstore, rather than previously thumbed pages.

surveillance says: frustrated