Life is the game of infinite choices. A field that you can wend your way through a billion times and still stumble across patches you’ve not seen before.

Every quick-running or slow-walking step alters your route through the field, through life. When you stop to smell the blooms of beauty, pause a while beneath the boughs of a tree or simply lift your head and eyes to the skies and smile, these experiences change who you are. They don’t change you but they affect your senses: you are born looking through eyes of pure clarity but with age comes fettered, foggy vision.

It’s not that the field is different. It just looks and feels different. The field itself changes very little, in ways that are predictable. The framework of existence brings periods of pestilence and death when the lush emerald greens of life all but vanish, but it also  brings new births, explosions of new energy. There are always seasons of bountiful growth when the booming burst of life seems to oust even the most die-hard spectres of dark pasts.

In the space between there is balance. It is among and between the spurts of life and rubble of death that we walk. It is right here and now, where we breathe and live and smile and survive that we make decisions about how we live our life; how best to cross that field, one step at a time.

What path should I choose? Will I let divine covenant or the winds of fortune guide me, knowing that every step I make will alter my ultimate destination?

If it helps, there are no wrong moves and only one rule, one obligation: I must make it to the end. I must survive the infinite game of life. How well I survive is only limited by my zeal and imagination.

Live life. Enjoy, relish and savour its tumultuous twists and turns: it’s meant to be fun!

Ask Me Anything is turning into an Internet phenomenon! My cute little buttons are turning up on blog sidebars all over the net! My inbox is almost full to overflowing with fun, tricky, geeky and out-right disturbing questions. This week sees the (popular?) return of The Apron, at the behest of one of the anonymous submissions. Remember, if you have anything to ask, ask me. No ‘Sebby In Doctor’s Jacket’. Sorry, I failed!

Dear Bearded Wisdom Dispenser [Bonus points! -S]

Is there any fail-safe way to give a cat medicine? Specifically pills, since the liquids are much easier to force-feed.

My cat nearly died of kidney failure and was sent home on two meds. Then he wouldn’t swallow one of them (for one pilling only!) and had to be re-admitted to the hospital and sent home on FOUR meds. He hates me and I feel like a terrible overlord every time the medicating-by-force hour rolls around.

PETA would be shocked to see me in action, shouting at him and cramming things down his throat! I have tried EVERYTHING: wrap him in a towel, coat the pill with butter, dab butter on his face to make him lick it off and swallow, blow in his face, stroke his neck, prise his jaws open and throw the pill down his throat… even a pill gun! Which is guaranteed by the vet, and yet still the little bugger keeps figuring out ways around my tricks.

As he gets healthier it gets harder and harder to get him medicated! His latest method involves working up so much drool that it literally pours down his front, and washing the pill out in the flood.

What do I do with the little @#!%?? Despite the hell he gives me, I do rather like him and want to make this easier on BOTH of us. Heeeelp!

Entertaining the thought of a home-made fur coat,
Scrawny-but-surprisingly-strong Brunette

Well… kudos for trying so damn hard to help your cat! I think I would’ve given up long ago and simply got a new cat — I’d do the same if I had a troublesome baby too. I guess that’s why no woman has agreed to have children with me yet. Hm. Anyway… This is going to be tough, as you’ve tried almost all of the conventional methods — and even a few highly creative unconventional ones! (Did you photograph your cat covered in butter…?)

There are a few other things you can try though! From easiest to hardest:

• Pill pockets! You can actually buy kitty treats that you can slot the pill into! How cool is that?
• Hide it in his food? You don’t mention it, but I assume you’ve tried hiding the pill in his food? Some experts suggest using a different kind of food that they’ve not had before, so that they won’t know you’ve tampered with it. Best use whole pills, not powdered, so you know how much (or little) of the medication has actually been consumed.
• Dissolve the pill. If all else fails, dissolve the pill into a little water or the juice from a tin of tuna. Then inject it into the cat’s mouth with a little plastic pet syringe (which you can probably get from your vet).

Notice how all of these methods don’t involve holding the cat down (or tying it up in a towel? you cruel mistress!) So hopefully the cat should still be your friend afterwards!

How on earth can ask.com which I have never installed/used hijack my browser?

Better still how the hell do I rid myself of the devlish blighter? Thought I’d consult a master before I go downloading random “fix” software willy-nilly. Thus far I have run Ad-Aware and Spybot and cleared cookies but to no avail

I didn’t surf any porno sites, honest,
Obviously Female from Dakota

Browser hijacking is horrible! You were right to start with Ad-Aware and SpyBot, both of which are usually very good — but not always capable of resolving and removing everything! You’re a bit lacking in details, so I’ll start with the basics and go from there: first, are you sure Ask hasn’t just become your homepage? Are you using Firefox or Internet Explorer? (The solution will vary wildly dependent on which browser you use!)

It might be as simple as resetting your homepage (Tools -> Options -> ‘Main’ or ‘General’ and just set the homepage to Google!) or it might be something a whole lot more gribbly.  A little searching suggests that the main Ask.com hijack involves using Firefox, so I’ll just assume you’re using Firefox…!

• Open up My Computer and navigate to: C:\Documents and Settings\YOUR USER NAME\Application Data\Mozilla\Firefox\Profiles\ — alternatively, you can type that address into Start > Run!
• There should be a folder there ending in ‘.default’. It’ll be called something like ‘ym0is63z.default’ — you want to go into that directory, double click it.
• Delete user.js and user.js.bak. That ought to clean things up.

To be honest, the number of hijacks that you could be afflicted by is probably in the hundreds, and I’ve only listed one way to fix it. If all else fails, have you tried Google’s new browser, Chrome? It’s not perfect, but it’s probably the easiest solution to your problem!

Mr Seb,

This morning on a semi-crowded subway car, I encountered a bit of drama when a man 20 years my senior fitted his way into a space between myself and another mid-thirties comely lady like me. After a few beats, I felt this man’s shoe at the edge of mine and then his bag fell against my calf. As there was an empty space this man had just vacated in order to wedge his way betwixt us two and furthermore, since I was in the space I occupied first, I felt no need to move an inch. Therefore, I politely inquired, “Excuse me, sir, would you mind your bag that is touching my leg?” He replied, “I have a bag and you have a bag.” (Indeed, he was showing his brilliance there as we were both holding bags.) Though in truth the ass did position himself near me, so he was actually touching my bag, I recognized my handbag was touching him, so I moved it away from him and repeated my inquiry. He then leaned over near my face and stated, “If you lost some weight, you would have more room.”

Seeing as how I was now dealing with a man-child, say about mental age eight, I responded in kind by saying, “I can lose some weight, but you’re not going to lose your stupid.” Now, I feel my response was adequate. After all, it elicited a boisterous shouting of the word “Porky” from the man on the train, who I might add was clad in a suit. (Quite the professional man, eh?) I definitely wedged under his skin. However, my reply certainly is nothing to send into the history books, and I readily admit that during the fog of my morning commute, I probably plagiarized it from some book or movie.

So here’s my question… [Finally, eh, after a truly Shakespearean/Herculean effort... -S] How would you have responded to the man had you been a witness to this subway folly? I’m also intensely interested in how Apron would have reacted. (I heart Apron.) Thank you (and Apron) in advance for your considered replies.

Regards,
Well Proportioned Lady with robust self-esteem, despite the lunacy of a deranged middle aged man during a NYC commute

Seb

First of all, congratulations on being the first Ask Me Anything that I haven’t had to modify in any way shape or form. Though flowery, your use of language was, I believe, apt. It took me right back to the Middle Ages when men would joust and duel to the death for the privilege of marrying and deflowering the finest of maidens.

As for advice… Do you mean, if I witnessed the situation as the well-proportioned lady in question (i.e. you), or if I was a chivalrous man sitting opposite and watching the sad little incident unfold?

This is where I should probably tell you that I have a bit of a ‘thing’ for busy train carriages. As I’ve already alluded to in my ‘Best places to have sex‘ articles, I do like trains. And busy trains really do it for me… … With that in mind, I give you my wisened advice: Sock it to him! Just scream something along the lines of Hey, stop touching me!, leap out of your chair and swing the aforementioned bag at him. There’s no way in this day and age that anyone will ever doubt the veracity of your claim — yay, feminism! — so there’s likely to be little or no repercussions for a dazzlingly protean display of ball-whacking  audacity in front of the other commuters.

However, if you prefer a more temperate approach, I’d suggest you simply ‘take it like a man’ and just take a photo of him with your phone. Then upload it to your computer, scrawl something rude across it with Paint, and put it on the Internet.

[What follows is one of the funniest things I've ever read... but maybe that's because it's 3am and I'm starting to lose it. -S]

Apron

Dear Big & Bouncy,

How would I have responded to him?  Um, I wouldn’t have.  I’m way too scared of getting knifed in the neck to start shit with obvious lunatics.  Especially lunatics in suits.  They’re known commonly as “Suitatics” or “Mafioso.”

The real issue here is not necessarily how I or anybody else would have responded– the real issue here is the whole confrontation.  Now, you say you love me, and I’m truly touched and flattered by that.  And, honeybear, I love you too, so I know you won’t mind when I tell you that both you and the suit-wearing dickhead were both behaving like five-year-old children on this particular subway ride.  So, maybe the guy shouldn’t have placed himself in between you and the other “mid-thirties comely lady,” but he did.  The last time I checked the New York State’s penal codes, standing in between two people on a subway isn’t a crime, even if there is space elsewhere in the car.

Right?  Right.

Here’s the sad, cold, hard, unpleasant truth of life: in subway cars, people touch each other.  To me, if I can ride the MTA from Brooklyn to Coney Island without enduring somebody’s finger in my asshole or their chin-zit on my shoulder, then I think I’ve done pretty okay for myself.  So his shoe was at the edge of yours.  So his bag was touching your leg.  Jesus Christ, you sound like a child in the back of the Oldsmobuick with your older brother on a family vacation to Hot Springs.  “He keeps touching me!”  “She won’t stop licking my seatbelt!”  “He keeps shoving his fingers in his eye sockets and rubbing the goo on my t-shirt!”

Um, yeah.  Get the fuck over yourself.

Seriously– if you had just endured his shoe touching yours and his bag touching your leg, you wouldn’t have made the totally unnecessary comment about his bag touching your leg, the comment that escalated this whole series of events.  And he wouldn’t have called you “Porky,” which I’m sure you’re not.  Now, was he in the right for doing that?  Certainly not.  He obviously wasn’t brought up by kind, egalatarian, loving parents.  And, if he was, he probably killed them and ate them the morning of this unfortunate subway ride– chalk his brusque comment up to a little indigestion.

I’m willing to bet that this isn’t the only instance of Subway Drama that has involved you, has it?  Honestly, if you’re going to live in NYC and ride the MTA every day of your life, you’re going to have to get used to people mashing your buxomness, stepping on your Nine Wests and breathing pickle steam down your neck.  That’s just the way it is.  And I tell it like it is.  ‘Cause I’m a 20 something blogger, and I’ve got snark leaking out of my ass, little bitches.  Don’t stand next to me on the subway, some snark might get on your skirt.

That about wraps it up for another week! Share my Ask Me Anything buttons around! (How smooth am I? Getting better at this self-promotion thing…)

I had a few personal questions trickle in this week, which I don’t mind, but they’re outside the scope of Ask Me Anything. Feel free to email any questions you might have though, or perhaps you might find the information you’re looking for on the ‘About‘ page. Alternatively, I might compile a few personal questions and post them all at once — but that’s getting awfully close to those list-style Internet memes that I do so despise.

No picture of me in a doctor’s jacket again! What a gyp! (Note the interesting derivation on ‘gypsy’ — never knew that!) You must be so disappointed in me yet again. But in my defence, this week’s been a really unpleasant mix of heat, humidity and stiflingly oppressive stillness. The only breeze is that which has been stirred up by the feeble fan that’s currently keeping my feet cool. So you get some angstily-answered questions this week and a re-used picture of me that you’ve probably seen before. If you’re not interested, go and watch my video blog from yesterday. Or go ask me a question!

Every question this week has something to do with love or sex or relationships!
(Sorry, I know it’s a bit over the top… but yes, now you know what my eyes look like… yay!)

Dear Sex-pert Seb, [This feels more like a tabloid each week, excellent -S]

I want to do something for my man which will make him smile every time he thinks about it… and I don’t mean baking an amazing cake! I mean something naughtier.

As someone who is obviously experienced in naughty things, what can you suggest?

- Sexless in Seattle

A juicy one to start with. It probably comes as no surprise to you, me being a man and all, that the only real thing I’ve been able to focus my thoughts on over the last week, during this heatwave, is… sex. I’m all hot and sweaty and so my thoughts inevitably drift to when I was last hot and sweaty. Not being the kind of person to do any exercise outside of the bedroom, my mind wanders to all of the beautiful women that I’ve made love to.

You came to the right person: Sex-pert Seb! I’ve read a lot of girl magazines (Cosmo, Marie Claire, etc.) over the years (I told you, I’m inquisitive) and consider myself a bit of a guru when it comes to this particular topic. The suggestions tend to vary from downright-weird to the hmm-that-sounds-quite-nice-actually but they nearly all revolve around one thing: oral sex (or cooking for him, misogyny be damned!)

There are a lot of variations, some more difficult and/or degrading than others — I’ll give you an easy one to start with: go down on him while he’s asleep, in the morning. It’s a very, very good way to wake up, I assure you.

For more information, search the Internet for the many guides on the topic, but here’s SexInfo101’s to get you started: Fellatio I – Basics.

Geek Master S,

I write to you in greatest secrecy because… because it’s about a girl that I like. But she’s a geek, so she might be able to find this if I give you too much information. Anyway, there’s this girl I like, but I don’t know how to make her love me! Or at least for her to take me seriously! She’s more of a geek than me. She likes all sorts of weird stuff like comics and TV shows with vampires in. I watched Buffy though, and that’s alright, but the rest… I dunno.

Anyway, my question is, how can I be the guy she wants? We are good friends right now, but sex/relationships seem like the last thing on her mind, but I must make her mine!

Live long and prosper (that’s what you geeks say right?),
Clueless Wannabe Geek

Ah, young padawan (that’s a trainee Jedi, from Star Wars), you have much to learn — but it is a good, ripe topic worthy of your focus! The geeks will inherit the world, if they have not already done so, and it’ll be a better place for it! Fortunately, I’m about as big a geek as it gets, so I’ll try to impart some useful knowledge that’ll hopefully a) make you a better person (more of a geek) and b) get into her pants.

First, you need to at least be interested in her and what she does (this is good advice for any girl, incidentally). If she likes vampires, you better start liking vampires, or at least try to read the latest Twilight book. Or invite her around for a Buffy/True Blood marathon. If she likes comics, ask her which super hero/universe is a good one to start with, and go buy it! For bonus points, accompany her to some kind of comic/geek convention and dress up according to her wishes.

As long as you’re interested, she should fall into line pretty quickly. You don’t even have to be an alpha geek yourself, she’d probably be more than happy with someone that doesn’t hush into silence her latest thoughts on the ‘continuity of Star Trek: The Next Generation episode 42′.

For more information, I have to refer you to my own awesome Geek Guides: Why geek girls are awesome (well duh), Geeks make good lovers (this is why you want to make her yours, trust me…)

Sebby-poo, [I got called this for a short period at school by girls. It was not a good time in my life. -S]

I think I’m gay… I like girls. I don’t know if it’s a problem per se, or if it will become a problem later on… but right now, I’m just a bit confused, you know? Is it a phase? Should I tell someone to get it off my chest, or will that only make it worse in today’s day and age? I guess that’s what I’m doing now by telling you?

I suppose I’m looking for advice, if there’s anything I should know. Some background info: I’ve had a few boyfriends but nothing long-term. I’ve had sex with one boy and it was… nice. Nothing special! I recently kissed a girl at a house party… we were drunk… turns out she’s liked me for ages though… and it did feel nice, leaving me wishing something more had happened!

Help me! Am I gay or straight or just…

- A Confused Girl

Well this one’s tricky and ‘are you gay?’ is a good place to start. Sexuality has always been a contentious topic: is it genetic? Nurtured? Instilled by popular culture? The prevailing theory at the moment is that it’s a big mix of nurture and nature — your genetics and hormonal balance might play a big role in it, but so does your upbringing and experiences. No one really knows to be honest (no doubt we’ll learn more about it in the next few decades now that homosexuality is becoming ‘OK’ in modern society). The only real measurement of gayness is: do you feel more attraction (in the full sense — mental and physical, ’till death do you part) to other women? If so, then you’re gay.

But that’s OK!

It’s quite important to remember that being gay does not lock you into various stereotypes and mannerisms. You don’t have to cut your hair short and adorn yourself with tattoos. You don’t have to slap on some lipstick and make out with other girls in clubs (though you can do either if you like). You already have a potential girlfriend lined up, which is good; she can show you the ropes, and you won’t have to wander into the treacherous and seedy world of ‘gay bars’ to experiment. Talking of experimentation: who knows, it might turn out that you’re not actually into girls after all. Perhaps you’re simply curious about things, or you’re out of a disaffected relationship with a boy!

Most of all, don’t worry. Being gay is more socially accepted now than ever before! That doesn’t mean you’ll fit in everywhere, especially in mature or religious communities, and you must accept that their point of view on homosexuality is as valid as yours, and a lot more entrenched. Life as a lesbian might not always be easy, but the important thing is that you’re happy and able to be yourself.

What happens when you die?

If you’re not spiritually-inclined, death is just a moment in time. You’re alive and then, a moment later, you’re dead. There is a cessation of all that makes us physically alive: we stop breathing, our blood circulation halts and finally our brain activity flat-lines — we are deceased.

And medically speaking that is true. Your time is up; the grains of sand have emptied and the ticking has ceased.

On the other hand, if you believe in some kind of soul, something beyond the world that we can see and measure scientifically, death is more of a way-point on your travels.  You might believe that heaven awaits, or that your soul takes a little trip before returning back to the physical realm, but it doesn’t really matter: you believe that death isn’t the end of your story.

What we really have to do is define ‘death’, a task that many people would claim is very easy: it’s body death; a flat line on both the ECG (heart) and EEG (brain) machines. Someone whispers into our ear or shines a light into our eyes and there is no response, no reflex — that’s body death. But then why are there billions of people that believe that we’re not actually dead, that our soul has simply left the building in search of other stomping grounds or greener pastures? Death is meant to be the end! And it is for every other animal and plant in the world! Why does it have to be so tricky when it comes to humans, why do we persist in refuting death? Why do we insist that we ‘live on’?

Maybe, just possibly, there’s something to it. Perhaps there is a soul. Perhaps body death isn’t the end! What if we are just poorly-equipped to define ‘death’ scientifically? What if science simply refuses, by definition, to acknowledge something that is impossible to measure and define?

But then why is more than half of Earth’s population so strongly opposed to the finality of death? Why, for thousands of years, have we tried to define life after death? For millennia we have struggled to elucidate what really goes on after death as we traverse the great unknown — and curiously, after 6,000 years of modern civilisation, we still don’t even know how to get there! Attaining spiritual immortality in ancient history and religion reads like a hilarious list of scatter-gun, maybe-this-will-work approaches. First, right at the cusp of recorded history, there were deified statues and bloody rituals. Then with the first great civilisations we had burial rites and coins on our eyelids to ensure our safe passage into the afterlife. The Dark Ages saw a change from polytheism to monotheism and it became more about repentance, seeking forgiveness for our sins and regimented worship. Finally, with the Middle Ages and the glorious, opulent lives of feudal nobility and merchant oligarchies, immortality could be obtained by paying someone that’s close enough to an Almighty Being — i.e. buy some new stained-glass windows and you’re in.

The problem is: they can’t all be right. Is obtaining life after death simply a matter of mentally flagellating or prostrating yourself before the eyes of a suitably-powerful deity? Almost all religions claim that that they are correct and infallible, their scriptures often divined or prophesied from a god. They don’t all claim that other religions are false but most do — my god is more goddy than yours! — which causes a little problem: who’s right? Are they all right? Or, as I’m inclined to believe, are they all wrong? I won’t turn this into a theological discussion, but I do want to work out which religion got it right because the concept of everlasting life must be pretty enthralling if five billion people want to believe in it.

In fact, the concept that we might simply cease to exist, both body and soul (if it exists!), is a relatively new concept. An enlightened concept that we’ve been scared of acknowledging all along, just in case it’s true. We’ve finally arrived back at the stage where challenging or disproving religion doesn’t end up with you being burnt at the stake. We’re finally at the point where we can question our existence in this universe with some semblance of objectivity. Pure and absolute rationality is still a little way off — maybe quantum mechanics has the real answers? — but we can still revisit with a critical eye, unfettered by either dogma or tradition, the concept of allaying or postponing our ultimate death.

Science has gone a long way to explaining many things we’ve historically considered ‘magical’ or ‘miraculous’ but there are still many unknowns. There are a whole slew of phenomena that can be explained by the existence of a ’spiritual universe’ too — in fact, it’s a very good way of explaining away almost anything that remains a mystery to us. Eventually though — and this is guaranteed — someone will get to the bottom of near-death experiences and the continued consciousness that people experience throughout brain death. In a truly ‘eureka!’ moment a scientist will discover exactly what happens, if anything, when we die.

It’ll feel like the unravelling of the greatest of magic tricks: one of the few remaining mysteries of human existence ripped apart and laid bare for all to see. And then, like all exploited magic — or technology — it’ll just become a ubiquitous part of everyday life: if we do have souls, we’ll make glorious plans for the afterlife; if we don’t we’ll be able to finally stop wasting our time trying to earn and validate our ticket to the afterlife.

I hope people won’t be too disappointed when they find out that all those years of prayer and sacrifice and unwavering belief were for nothing. The Norse and Greek had the right idea: perform amazing deeds of strength and bravery, kindness and mercy. Achieve immortality through renown alone. Of course, they also knew that if any gods just happened to be watching they were hitting two birds with one stone.

What with all the excitement of my holiday on Monday I have to admit that I haven’t had a chance to sit down and write. Which is annoying because I really like writing! And I won’t get to write properly until after my trip. I hope I can survive (and satisfy you guys) with just lots and lots and lots of photos. Here’s hoping!

Anyway… I caught an episode of a fantastic series that’s airing in the UK on Channel 4 at the moment: Inside Nature’s Giants. The first episode featured an elephant (which I missed!) but this week they autopsied a massive Fin Whale (second only in size to the Blue Whale, the largest creature on the planet) — and as the Faroe Islands have lots of Fin Whales, I was obviously very interested! This poor girl had beached itself in Ireland and died — but not to waste such a golden opportunity, a crack team of biologists and veterinary scientists flew in to cut the beastie into little pieces –  in the name of science and commercial TV! (Here’s a video clip which I hope you can view outside the UK.)

I won’t lie: it was pretty damn grim to see the whale’s coroner knee-deep in whale bits (there’s no other word or words that can suitably describe the pink, wobbly mass she was wading through). ‘If I can just reach a little bit further up here into this cavity I can free its heart, but it’s tied down by all of these blood vessels…’ She’s hacking away with a machete! Chopping away at a dead whale!

The heart of this leviathan is a cubic meter! The main scientist (the one with the sharpest knife) held up a segment of its aorta (the main output artery of the heart) and it was about the size of your head! And its heart only beats three times a minute! (Which is how it stays underwater for so long.) The whole whale weighs 60 tons (55,000kg) and is 65 feet (20m) long! When feeding it swallows 70 cubic meters (18,000 gallons) of water and then spits it back out through its filters, capturing fish and crustaceans. It can empty and fill its 3000-litre lungs in one breath — which it only needs to do once every 40 minutes!

But the amazing bit? They’re mammals, just like you and I! They originally started off as dog-like creatures with hoofed feet. 53 million years ago these ‘pakicetids’ jumped into the water and never looked back. It took 15 million years for them to lose their legs and become fully marine. 8 million years more and they had learnt to echolocate (the ’sonar’ that they use to locate food and obstacles). 10 million years later they diversified into dolphins and porpoises — and that’s where we are today.

‘Just’ 53 million years to mutate from average-sized land-dwelling mammal to the largest species this planet has ever known — the Blue Whale (which are bigger than commercial jets, by the way). Their new-born children weigh 6,000lbs (2,700kg) and drink 400 litres of milk a day! But as weird and foreign and huge as they are, they’re still mammals. These monsters are genetically more similar to a mouse than a fish.

And that made me think about where we’d be in 53 million years.

Humans are incredibly young in the grand scale of things. We — Homo habilis, our very, very primitive ancestors — started using tools around 2.5 million years ago, which set us apart from our chimpanzee brethren. And look how far (or not?) we’ve come in just 2.5 million years! In another 51.5 million years what could we possibly evolve into?

I’ve talked a tiny bit about the future of the human race but hardly touched on the topic of evolution.Will we even live long enough to experience tangible evolution? And if we do evolve significantly, what form will it take? Looking at that little dorky dog-like creature above, and then at the Blue Whale it’s almost impossible to fathom what we might become if given enough time! What environmental condition or external stimulus will have the biggest impact on our evolution? Will we develop a 6th finger on each hand to help us type faster? Will evolution instead take the form of transhumanism: bionic arms and eyes, and cybernetic implants?

The problem is, evolution is slow. You can forget ruggedised skin to survive global warming (or impending ice age if you’re that way inclined). You can forget wings to fly around with (though that might happen if we move to a planet with less gravity!) In fact… I really have no idea what we might evolve into. It’s like being asked ‘what do you think the world will be like in 100 years?‘ but exponentially more difficult to answer.

Looking at history we’re actually more likely to wiped out by a meteor before we evolve into something new and exciting. With us obliterated, the whales might sneak back onto land and spend another 53 million years transforming back into dogs:  speaking dogs with opposable thumbs capable of using tools.

Hmmm…

My trip to the Faroe Islands was inspirational. It wasn’t a roller coaster of excitement. It wasn’t a sun-drenched getaway. I didn’t sleep a lot, nor did I feast on exotic fruits fed to me by sun-kissed maidens — in fact, all I ate was meat and potatoes. The Faroe Islands were educational. Eye-opening and and interesting.

The Faroe Islands are unique in that they’re the smallest Western nation in the world. 45,000 people spread out across an archipelago of 18 islands. They have three cities, the biggest of which has a population of 15,000 — the next, Klaksvik, has just 4,000.

Zoom in on that city. A village or small town by any other standard, Klaksvik is the capital of the Northern Isles and the hub of culture and commerce for 6 of the Faroes’ 18 islands. Once upon a time it would’ve been a village with a thriving marketplace, a civilisation whose only contact with the outside world was by boat. In fact its tunnel to the mainland was only finished in 2006!

But is it a backward, single-street village? Is Klaksvik a second-world shanty village reliant on good weather and safe waters for its survival? No. When the fog horns bellow do women run helter-skelter to the harbour hoping that food has finally arrived? No. Klaksvik and the Faroes themselves are actuallty one of the most developed nations in the world. In Klaksvik alone they have multiple deep-sea harbours and dry dock. A cinema and theatre. Two gymnasiums and a skate park! They even have a fully-featured hospital and – get this – a football stadium with more than enough seating for the entire town — city! I meant city! (Don’t call it a village. They really hate that. I did it a few times…)

They’re also planning an indoor football pitch for use during the dark and cold-rain winters that descend upon their city for two thirds of the year. An indoor sports arena for just 4,000 people; just 4,000 people utilise these awesome and ludicrous amenities. Four thousand happy little souls, living out their lives as humble fishermen and sheep farmers but with access to resources that would put most western nations to shame.

But how do they do it? How can economy on such a tiny scale work?

More importantly: why don’t all towns of similar size around the world have the same resources?

Now that I’ve painted an objective picture of Klaksvik, it’s necessary for me to tell you what it’s like to live there. What’s it like to live in a city where everyone literally knows everyone? What’s it like when the bank manager is both your uncle and the one signing your mortgage agreement? How about when the city’s star football player is also the same person that you regularly head into the Arctic Circle to trawl cod fish with? What’s it like to live in a place where it’s not unusual for teenagers to head out together for a 9-month stint as fishers in the Barents Sea off the coast of Russia?

But the weirdest thing about the small city of Klaksvik is this: nothing is locked. Car doors are left unlocked with their keys often on display. House doors are (usually) closed but never bolted. Boats and bikes are left running: nothing is chained down.

As a result, life in Klaksvik felt just as I expected: it’s like one big family. Because that’s what it is. We’re talking about a city that formed by the coalescence of nearby villages; from just 200 people a thousand years ago, there are now 4,000. You don’t need a piece of paper to work out just how closely related everyone is.

There was the possibility that I would be thought of as ‘the stranger’, the freak that would draw people to their windows. The other-world alien that would pull crowds of pointed fingers, furrowed glares and nervous giggles.

I thought I’d feel like an outcast, a tourist — or worse: a journalist — an outsider come to investigate and poke and ridicule their ancient form and customs.

Instead I was welcomed with open arms and hearts. And legs.

[Next part tomorrow... hopefully!]

The Faroes consist of 18 islands, some small, some large, and only one uninhabited. The population spread is also far from equal: about two thirds of the population live in or near the capital. For 1200 years the only way to get around would’ve been by boat. We’re not talking large distances – the archipelago is only 100 miles across – but by land, because of the mountainous topology, most villages would be, by today’s standards, totally isolated. Settlements in the Faroes are invariably placed in bays and inlets with mountains reaching up behind them. These plains are also very small – there’s almost no naturally-flat land in the Faroes! – and as a result there’s only one big town: Torshavn (Thor’s Harbour – cool name, eh?)

Anyway, along came the automobile and roads between towns on the same island begun to be carved out of the vertical-cliffed basalt mountains; ferries were used to go between islands – and more recently, to replace the ferries, tunnels! Lots and lots of tunnels.

I’m not some master civil engineer. I don’t know a whole lot about tunnel making (except for the Eurotunnel because it was in the media for a decade…) What I do know is that cutting your way through dense, metamorphic rock isn’t easy. In fact, it’s more a case of blowing things up with explosives. In a controlled fashion of course.

And that’s where this story takes place: in a Faroese under-sea tunnel. Not a nice, new, two-way well-lit tunnel – no. This takes place in one of the original, single-lane, pray-you-don’t-meet-someone-coming-the-other-way tunnels. They’re not lit. These tunnels are pitch-black except for your car’s lights. Years and years of carbon emissions mean the walls are lined with thick, light-absorbent soot. The only saving grace are the reflectors that illuminate the scars left by the dynamite: deeply-pocked, dirty-black holes.

Except for getting from A to B in the quickest way possible, there’s only one other thing that these tunnels are good for: racing. On the Faroe Islands, a country with no apparent social structure and limited space to build big houses, there’s only one real way to show off your wealth: fast cars. Fancy cars. Cars with spoilers and sexy skirts.

And in the case of my host in the Faroe Islands: nitrous oxide injection. I won’t bore you with the details, but put simply: it makes a car go quick – spine-fusing and eyebrow-ripping fast.

(This was meant to be someone sitting in a car with g-force/wind making their cheeks wobble…
But this was all I could find on Google.)

I’ve completely lost my train of thought. Damn Asian baby. Ah yes… So they race along these tunnels. A bit like a low-tech version of The Fast and the Furious without the flashy lights or the  hot girls in skintight plasticky clothing. You start at one end and finish at the other — the highest max speed at the end of the night wins! Wins what? The multi-tiered, golden and invisible cup of Pride of course! I suppose when you’ve been at sea for nine months bragging rights are about as exciting as things get: “Pass me the knife, Bjorn.” “REMEMBER THAT TIME I BEAT YOU IN THE TUNNEL?!” “Yeah… now pass the damn knife.”

I should tell you now that I’m a bit of a speed freak. So of course, last week, I found myself sitting in a super-charged hod and staring into the murky abyss.

“What if there’s a car coming but its lights are broken?

“Well… let’s hope that doesn’t happen Seb.”

“What if we hit a rock and collide with the wall, smearing our faces into a millimeter-thick laminate?”

“There’s always a chance of that… but it’s been a long time since it last happened.”

And with a cheesy, over-confident grin from the driver — a grin that betrayed his true nervousness — and with the drop of the clutch and the bang of the exhaust we accelerated into the tunnel.

A few seconds later, fully blanketed in black, there’s a rumble loud enough to be heard over the frantically-whirring engine. It’s my turn to grin nervously. It’s my turn to look towards the car’s flimsy roof and perform in the fraction of a second some thoroughly pointless calculations.

Out of the corner of his mouth he whispers tersely.

“Seb.” A second desperate and creaking roar from the dark surround. “Brake… or accelerate?”

Would you rather be an artist or engineer?

This is a question I often ask myself on trains and planes or as I lay in the still solitude of my bed. Do I want to create art so beautiful, so inspirational that people actually enjoy life a little bit more? Do I want to develop infrastructure and technology that provides clean drinking water for the billions without?

In this crafted and cultured world, this world without boundaries that we have persisted in creating and destroying over ten long, illustrious millennia, which is more important: art or engineering?

Which was more instrumental: myth and wisdom — or creating fire?

The Bible — or the Roman Empire?

Michaelangelo’s David – or Kodak’s film camera?

Band Aid’s Feed The World — or a network of satellites that enable global communication?

Lennon’s Imagine – or Apple’s iTunes?

Art or engineering?

Do I want to be the person that enables and improves the lives of millions through advancing technology? Should I be the one that converts magic, wished-for technologies into the accessibly mundane?

Or should I be the culmination, the end point, the person that uses contemporary technologies to create art? Art that resonates within and amplifies emotions; art that triggers further explosions of creativity until we have a more beautiful world.

I keep trying to be both an artist and an engineer but I fear that it’s time to choose just one.

Michelangelo or Edison.

Einstein or Plato.

I’ve covered the sorry state of knowledge and inherent lack of truth that plagues contemporary society.

But it didn’t start yesterday or even 100 years ago! It’s an eternally recurring theme of dumbing-down and almost-truths dispensed by nasty people posing as intellectual authorities over thousands of years. There is an endemic ‘loss of wisdom’ that has an iteratively degenerative effect, gaining more momentum with each generation.

Historically these lies, these tales, were of a philosophical or mythical nature and virtually harmless. They were stories that became true through retelling: Hercules, Romulus, Arthur. The stories were told first by the travelling bard, then more abstractly through tribalism and shamanism. Polytheism followed with its anthropomorphic (god of wine, god of war) pantheon of valiant heroes and demigods. Finally monotheism trumped them all and wrapped up with its epic, fearsomely vengeful tale of apocalyptic events.

Old wives’ tales (or fables or myths or whatever!) might’ve been lies or half-truths but they didn’t really harm anyone; they might have been ‘not ideal’, but that’s not the point — they were moving towards the ideal — they were retold to children with good intentions! The same could be said for the basic spiritual maxims of most religions: everlasting life; don’t murder; try your best not to sodomise your brother’s wife; treat others how you would like to be treated. All good but… it sadly didn’t last. Something changed. All of a sudden enforcement entered the equation. Arbitrary enforcement: rules, laws and peer pressure with little or no basis in moral/cultural advancement or ethical living. If abstract/intellectual enforcement wasn’t enough, there was a strong physical aspect too: witch-hunts, the Inquisition and the Crusades are but a few obvious examples.

Why did it happen? For thousands of years our focus had been on becoming a more advanced race. But one day, probably after the fall of Rome, we woke up and well… we fell asleep again. Life was no longer about pushing the progress of civilisation. Perhaps it was our growing understanding of human anatomy and psychology that caused the change. Maybe it was due to the formation of metropolises like Rome and the urgent need to control large groups of people quickly and easily. Personally I think the continued development of written and spoken language — and rhetoric — played a big role. Whatever it was, something snapped. No longer was storytelling used to share wisdom or morals to improve our progeny’s standard of living. Gone were the tales that frightened children away from actual dangers like dank caves or poisonous fruits.

A new breed of story started to appear, tales that weaved lies and believable half-truths into their narrative. And we know that words, both written and spoken, have a terrible power. Instead of cresting taller peaks and pushing towards new horizons people started to fear their surroundings. Authorities of knowledge slowly faded away to be replaced by scary chieftains, oppressive teachers, greedy priests and, of course, a vengeful God.

I’ve written about magic before and how it is ultimately synonymous with technology. Television was magic (find an old person that was around when television was invented and talk to them about it!) but sure enough, it very quickly became mundane. What do you think would’ve happened to the inventor of the television if he had been around in the Middle Ages? What do you think ‘witchcraft’ actually was? With such an attitude towards innovation and revolution (or evolution, hah!), is it a surprise that books, education and intellectual enlightenment all but disappeared for 1,000 years?

For a very, very long time the pursuit of knowledge and truth — science! — was frowned upon, persecuted. Scientists were shunned or burnt at the stake. Why?

Because they were dangerous. Knowledge is power.

We humans learnt just enough for the monotheistic surge to take place. We learnt how to exploit the human love of mystery with smart wit and sharp turns of dogmatic phrase. We have become a scared and tentative flock too fearful to break from the pack. In essence we learnt just enough to be dominated and no more.

And now we await — or do we create? –  the next Renaissance where veracity of knowledge is returned to us.

***

Still more to come, I think; on prejudice and ignorance. Oh, and if you’re reading this on the blog itself, remember you can double click a word to find out what it means!

Immersion is the act of being plunged, sometimes without us fully realising, into another place; another world. Be it via book, film, video game or any other form of media, our imagination lends itself readily, eagerly, to immersion in other worlds. It can be a very visceral experience, the new world plucking you from your present reality and sucking you through some kind of warping wormhole with a pop. Or it can be less obvious, the new world’s tendrils slowly creeping up and wrapping themselves around you until, before you know it, it feels like you’ve always been there — only you’re not quite sure how you got there.

And it’s healthy. Immersion is healthy. With immersion comes understanding and with that, eventually wisdom. When we’re immersed in a subject matter, be it vampires or the history of British monarchs (or the overlap of both!), we become dedicated to that cause. In reading a good book we often find ourselves identifying with a character and championing their thoughts and emotions. Hell, many people attribute entire shifts in viewpoint and way of life to books! The same can be said of films and video games too — if a book can be life-changing, so can a game!

‘Life-changing’ is the key phrase with immersion. When we enter into another person’s world — for that’s what we’re doing — we are assuming a new role, a new point of view; in essence, a new body. We glance around with the steady, fresh gaze of the newly birthed, curious and forever analysing. We’re actually granted a fresh set of senses which, depending on the story might vary in purpose or intensity — free, wild; sad, caged — but they are new! New, never-before-experienced senses! Just like that, the senses and experiences we carry with us in life can be dropped: prejudice, fear, pain, stress — gone. At least for a little while. Without leaving the library or even rolling out of bed we are able to live through a gamut of emotions and sensory experiences that might, were it not for immersion in a new world, go unused.

The problem, if there is one, is that that the virtual frontiers to which we are exposed are entirely governed by the author of the book, film or game. If the artist wants us to feel scared or fascinated or mystified, we will be. The author or director takes us on a journey, a tour of their imagination. We see and smell and hear their fears and torments, we feel their passions. We experience the joy, elation and pain of their first love, kiss and heart break.

It seems that, irrespective of how wild or terrifying or unreal a world is to us, we want to immerse ourselves. We want to be deeply involved. We want to be an important part of the world. We want, dare I say it, a world that can revolve around us — even if that world only exists in our own head, on loan from the creator and decorated by imagination for our own needs and wants.

You can be under your duvet with a good book and grinning like a fool or sweating and torturously scared — but entirely unable to put it down because that world — your world — would cease to exist, and you’re never quite ready for that to happen. And this is just single-player immersion! Some people aren’t content with being alone in these fleeting, imaginary worlds that disappear when we turn the last page or finish the film.  Just as sitting in your room reading a book or playing a game can get a little lonely: sometimes it’s better to stomp around a virtual, imaginary world with other immersed people in tow, with companions, with comrades… with friends!

And that is when you log into an Internet forum and find fellow Twilight fans. Or, if you have a penis, install World of Warcraft.

* * *

More tomorrow on immersion for Thoughtful Tuesday!

If you’re reading this after midday, UK time, go and check out week 4 of ‘52 Weeks’ — it’s a good one.