thecages

Here's a fascinating article on Alzheimer's disease from the NY Times.

When he learned in 1995 that he had Alzheimer’s disease, William Utermohlen, an American artist in London, responded in characteristic fashion.
“From that moment on, he began to try to understand it by painting himself,” said his wife, Patricia Utermohlen, a professor of art history.

The article gives a view on Mr. Utermohlen’s deterioration and how this translated to his self portraits as he lost control the mental faculties that allowed him to paint.
Neurologically it offers a view into the workings(or not) of the mind of someone who has Alzheimer's and how deterioration in different parts of the brain affect both the patient's visualisation of the world and ability to translate that image to an external form.

What fascinates me about the paintings is that they show a remarkable discipline and courage.
Mr. Utermohlen could have chosen to switch to painting nothing but landscapes or event daisies, but insisted on continuing to paint himself.
In some way self portraits(whether they be in paint, written form or music) offer the deepest view into a person's mind since the subject matter is so intensely personal.
Self portraits offer the viewer the most direct entry into the painter's self awareness.

What I do wonder about is how aware he was of his losing control over his paintings and to what extent looking at them during more lucid times scared him.
Something that has surprised me about my grandfather's loss of memory and context to Alzheimer's is that during his lucid moments he is frustrated by the difficulty he has in remembering names etc.[1] but that when he descends into a lost state he loses that frustration. And that when he then becomes lucid again he does not remember any of his inabilities when he was lost.
The disconnection between being present and being lost seems total.
This doesn't affect my grandfather as he doesn't keep a record of his lost times, but Mr. Utermohlen did.
Imagine waking up on a good day and looking at the history of your deterioration.

That Mr. Utermohlen chose to allow us(his wife, his doctors and now all of us) to view him so directly while he deteriorated into such a vulnerable state is remarkable.
What a magnificent way of refusing to let your physical situation control or debilitate you!

A biography of the artist and examples of more of his work is available here.

The portraits below are from NY Times.
























[1] even though his abilities are much better during those lucid moments than when he is in a fog

I first picked up on the notion of Advanced Capitalism through Haruki Murakami's Dance Dance Dance.

Murakami's take on the concept is concerned with the pervasiveness of the capitalist imperative[1] and the brutal system used to drive it, namely waste.

He emphasises the fact that most western-style economies rely heavily on wastage and redundancy to drive growth.
It's the old story that no car maker produces a car that lasts 25 years - they'll go bankrupt.

This cycle of redundancy manifests itself in a more extreme way in cellular telephones(2 years?), even more so in fashion(seasons) and is now going ballistic in the now-now popular culture of ringtones(2 weeks) and hyper pop music(15 minutes).
Let's not even mention Reality TV fame or MySpace[2].

And as for wastage, I have witnessed it first hand.
I am convinced that in my 3 weeks in the US I produced nearly double the waste I would have in South Africa.
Everything, everything is available in single portion, disposable units. Use it once, throw it away.
Making one cup of coffee in the Austin office resulted in 6 pieces of waste[3] - and I don't use any sugar.

But Murakami makes a second, more subtle, point about advanced capitalism that impressed me more.

His `antagonist`[4] commits murder but feels no remorse[5] nor any fear of persecution.
The simple fact is that he is rich and understands that there is no such thing as as punishable behaviour when you can buy your way out of it.
And it's not a matter of bribery or corruption.
It's simply a case of being in a position where your wealth offers you access to facilities/machinations that will get you out of literally any situation.
In essence you become untouchable as long as you can pay for that privilege.

There's another aspect to advanced capitalism that seems to be a popular topic among academic economists[6].
It relates to the blurring of lines between corporate and state interests and the power that state governments and the corporates who support them have to shape their world.

Nowhere is this more apparent than the current situation in the Middle East where today's US industrial-military complex is setting about building their emerging empire with total disregard for the rest of the world and its own citizens.

In essence they have determined that they will answer to no-one, will demand and exercise complete control over whomever they see fit, and have the money and the military will to back it up.

Which, finally, brings me to my story for today *phew*.
Vanity Fair recently advertised their annual essay contest[7] and posed the following question:

In a nation defined by video games, reality TV and virtual friendships, with a White House that has perfected the art of politics as public relations, what is reality to Americans today? And did we ever have a grasp of it?

Personally I don't find the question itself that compelling or well stated, but what blew my brains out was the supporting quote by an anonymous aide to Prezzo Bush from 2002[8].

Reading it and then re-reading it nearly knocked me off my chair.
It is the most direct, brutal statement of the advanced capitalist imperative that I've yet come across.
It provides an insight into the darkest hearts on the planet today.
Colonel Kurtz might have discovered the horror, but these guys have discovered it inside themselves and are developing it as a tool.

Yes, I'm hyping the crap out of this quote and likely your mileage on it will vary.
But from my perspective it is the most piercing statement of purpose and platform today.
And it has nothing to do with justification or motivation - that's the point.
Justification is not required anymore.

Your judicious study of discernible reality ... is not the way the world really works anymore.
We'’re an empire now.
And when we act, we create our own reality.

anonymous aide to Pres. Bush - 2002.

[1] Profit over production. Accumulation over development.
[2] I saw a post on Digg the other day where a person considered not posting an interesting link because it had been available on-line for 3 days already. fuck'n hardcore.
[3] One polystyrene cup, one automatic coffee machine sachet, three little ultra-pasturized milkies, one plastic stirrer.
[4] I never really experience any of his characters as antagonistic, some are just beyond ruthless - supremely disconnected from their surroundings.
[5] No shocker there
[6] Clearly then territory where I don't know shit.
[7] Which seems to be quite a prestigious affair.
[8] And that's four years ago already.

Tomorrow is the day of Diwali - the Indian festival of lights.


We have a delegation from India working in our offices at the moment(as part of a skills transfer program) and today's Friday morning tea was hosted by them with a Diwali theme.
Traditional dress abounded.

One of the guys(he seems to be generally accepted to be the most senior of the crew) spoke briefly about the history of the festival and its significance in Indian society[1].

Diwali has a rich history whose most probable origin is as a harvest festival.
Unsurprisingly for a polytheistic society like India this festival has grown to include celebrations for a wide range of gods and goddesses including
the welcoming of Rama, the Slaying of Mahisasura and the Defeat of Narkasur by Lord Krishna.

Of course today the festival has developed into something akin to the West's modern Christmas excesses[2], family wildness and outrageous bling.


What I found most compelling about Sachiien[3]'s talk this morning is how much emphasis he placed on Diwali as a coming together of all the religions and (crucially)castes of modern India.

The group that are currently here clearly encompass several castes[4] and this is often noticable in people's behaviours in things like willingness to argue or push a praticular idea etc.
Also within the group there are clear indications of caste-like groupings which never manifests as cliques but in the way that individuals interact with one another and with us[5].
It's very subtle but undeniable.

The visitors in my team have also talked quite a bit about about a move in modern India to remove the caste system entirely and a form of affirmative action that is being implemented to allow people of lower castes access to higher education etc.


I get the feeling that Sachiien was speaking more to his fellow colleagues this morning than to us WASP-types and his conciliatory tone was fascinating.


[1] the majority of our visitors are Hindu though there is at least one Sikh as well. Diwali is also celebrated by the Jains and Buddhists
[2] I read a fascinating article a while ago about the excesses around Ramadaan in Dubai - but that's another story
[3] the unofficial number one dude
[4] word is that this includes some very high castes
[5] I've picked up that due to my relatively loud and brash way (perhaps all the swearing?[i]) they've come to the conclusion that I must be of a high-ish standing. I'm making an effort to not re-enforce this by swaggering too much, but the truth is that I do... whadyagonnado?
[i] for this I must thank my colleagues in the PnP Sys.Eng. department - it was life-changing.
fuck you's ous anyway! :)

I'm becoming more convinced of the importance of active protest[1].

It's fine to talk about how screwed up the world is, that and why each individual should recognise this and how it affects my life.
But if none of this translates into activism it's a bit glass-house/stone.

While I have never protested violently I don't disapprove of it[2]. Nor am I much of a socialist[3].
But I am sometimes presented with an opportunity to say something, even if it is to minor effect.
How can I not use every opportunity to do so.

Yesterday I received a flyer in my mail from Pam Golding inviting me to give them my details and select one of the following options:

- I am interested in selling my property and would like to be contacted by your
area specialist
- I would like a market related valuation with no obligation.
- I am not interested in selling or a market related valuation at this stage.
(but here's my personal detail anyway... wtf???)
- I would be interested in looking at smaller/larger properties.
- I am presently selling my property.

They'll even pay for the mailing cost for your reply.
I can just imagine how much effort was put into putting together this neat little invasion under the guise of offering some sort of free service/offer.

Of course there's only one thing to be done with something like this; modify it and send it back to them courtesy of their paid-for business reply service.


I've decided to give my real name and street address(but not phone numbers) since sent anonymously it's value is marginal.
I eagerly await her knock at my door...

[1] During last year's local elections a friend of Anita's made a very good point. If you intend not voting because you feel that none of the candidates represent your interests, that their all just lazy fucks, you have a moral obligation to register to vote, go to the polling station and creatively spoil your vote. Abstaining doesn't do anything, only activism(however minor) is legitimate protest.
[2] I accept any action that someone chooses to take if they have
(i) given it careful consideration
(ii) accept responsibility for and the consequences of it
[3] It involves being social, which I'm not always good at.

Now is a time of endings.
Spring(and with it summer's early heat) has arrived in Cape Town, and it is the start of the growing season.

But relationships and lives are ending. The world is fucked beyond repair. And(vainly) I am approaching the end of my twenties.

Three of my grandparents are still alive and are all in their eighties. My father's father is in good health but his twin sister recently suffered a minor stroke, and has moved from her little flat into a frail care room. She seems to have chosen to mark this as the day her independent life ended.

My mother's father and mother weren't so lucky/cursed. Over the last two years they have involuntarily and continuously slid into a fog of memory loss and confusion.

Recently my maternal grandfather developed a haematoma due to prolonged minor internal bleeding and was admitted to hospital for surgery. Upon waking from his induced sleep Alzheimer’s had taken him.
He was apparently aggressively paranoid and fearful - speaking to himself about wanting to buy horses and the strangers who were holding him.
The doctors prescribed medication which control the outbursts but leaves him vague and devoid of a personality.

All of this I am experiencing second and third hand. They, along with two of my mother's brothers, live in Pretoria and so I am disconnected from the actual events.

I have never experienced any mammal's death first hand. No slaughtered sheep, no dog or cat under the vet's gloved hand, no aged relative.
My father's mother died in 2002, a thousand kilometers removed from me.
I have heard the events[1] around a dear cousin's grandmother's death some years ago.
I've seen dead bodies and flaming car wrecks but never a final breath.

Now I am losing - have lost - the member of my family in whom I've recognised my own genetics and personality most.
I've always felt my grandfather to be my strongest link to my line of decent.
The natural selection which passes genes and neural wiring from generation to generation is most evident[2] from him to me.

I last visited with him and my grandmother in December a few days before Christmas and found them, mercifully[3], lucid and talkative.
I now doubt if I will have another opportunity to talk to him when he will be able to understand that it is me speaking and will speak back.
My mother is planning on going to Pretoria one of these coming weekends and I will go with. But I am not expecting miracles, nor disasters - only the natural reality of that day as it will be.


Perhaps his metabolism will allow long established, well constructed neural pathways to function when I next see him and we'll be able to talk about how I'm doing, our plans to visit Canada and whether their avocado tree will bear many fruits this summer.
Or the deterioration of the structure and functioning of his brain and the merciful[4] relief of the medication will leave his breathing body unoccupied, and I will be left projecting my own brain's memories onto his recognisable features; hands, ears and balding head.
Perhaps someone else will be tending that avocado tree.

---

This is what I know of his life.
He was born to a family of missionary Seventh Day Adventists.
All the children had to learn to play musical instruments to be used in church, but this restriction meant that he and his brother had to secretly buy and listen to Jazz and Bossa Nova records.
Upon leaving school he enrolled in a Seventh Day Adventist seminary in Somerset West, at the foot of the Helderberg, to study to follow in his father's footsteps.


The male students would on Saturdays hire bicycles from people in town and pedal to the Strand to go and swim in the frigid water that I've been unable to persuade myself to enter more than a handful of times.
At some point during his studies he found that he disagreed strongly with the Adventists' teaching and left the seminary.
He became a male nurse instead and met my grandmother when she became a trainee nurse.
He had a motorcycle with a sidecar in which they could ride around, but he only bought a car after they married.
They regularly went dancing at a hotel near the Barrage(near Parys) in the Free State and recalled only leaving for home as dawn was already breaking.


They moved to the Jan Kempdorp/Vaalharts district in the Northern Cape where they farmed peanuts and cattle on an irrigated smallholding - though I'm not sure for how long. My mother was born on this smallholding
They also ran a general store as shopkeepers for a while.


With three children, in the mid 50's they moved to Pretoria(Valhalla then Pierneefrand) where he returned to nursing, working for Iscor.
While living in Pretoria two more children were born and he lost his eldest daughter to Epilepsy. His eldest son married as did a daughter(my mother).

In the mid 70's they moved to Phalaborwa where he worked as a radiologist for Foskor, examining the broken bones and cut innards of mine workers. My parents moved there too (from the Strand where he had swum so many years ago) in 1976. I was born in Phalaborwa, the second of ten grandchildren.


He retired from Foskor in the early 80s and he and my grandmother set off in a caravan on a grand tour of South Africa before settling in Pretoria which they had left more than a decade earlier.
Two more children were married while they lived in Pretoria.

In the late 80's they moved to Parys(where they had danced the nights away during their courtship) where they tended a massive fruit and vegetable garden irrigated from the Vaal river.
During the 90's they moved a number of times between their children, now settled in Pretoria, Jeffrey's Bay and(returning to the seminary town) Somerset West.
Their grandchildren grew and developed unfathomable tastes in clothing and music.
Their houses became systematically smaller from their enormous house in Pierneefrand through their dorpshuis in Parys and granny flats in Pretoria, Jeffreys Bay and Somerset West. Finally they settled in a one-bedroom unit in a retirement community in Waverly, Pretoria.

All these lines and circles drawn over decades from sea to river and back have led him and me and our wives in and around one another and the places we've lived.
I know better than to be hopeful or angry or sad[5].

---

The brain needs oxygen. The body lives and the senses produce electric stimuli.
Neurons fire and the information organises itself into a person.
The body deteriorates and starves the brain. The information leaves its electrical host.

Natural selection identifies a replicator which succeeds in producing a new generation.
The replicator dies and the next generation takes part in the next round of selection.

I walk by(or swim in) the same cold water he did. We share sets of genes.

None of this feels like evolution as the information that surrounds us continues to organise itself leaving us no less nor more vulnerable than before.




[1] her last hours were peaceful and clear. She spoke to each of her children and several visiting family members.
[2] to me at least
[3] fuck mercy, there is no mercy in the natural continuation of events - I cast the condition reflected by the I Ching, the reality of events, the organisation of the information as merciful - but it is indifferent to me[i]
[i] as it should be
[4] again with that gentle lie
[5] or vengeful or hopeful or aloof or strong or sensitive or any of those modulating behaviours that my brain has learnt.

Another lo-fi video gem to fry your brains with!

I first heard of OK Go after the viral phenomenon of their previous video hit A Million Ways. The video features the band performing a 3 1/2 minute sexycrazy dance routine[3] in the singer's backyard.
It was recorded in a single continuous take[1] with a borrowed video camera on a tripod. Apparently the total production cost was around $10 with $4.95 going towards film stock(a video cassette).
It became an internet phenomenon becoming the most downloaded music video ever with more than 9 million downloads through YouTube alone.



Now they've released another miracle of crazysexiness with the video for Here It Goes Again. Again it is shot in a single take from a camera on a tripod and choreographed by that vixen of sexycraze Trish. But this time they have props in the form of six running treadmills arranged in a back and forth configuration.
The band proceed to boogy, slide, swing, clap and even `ice skate` their way around this fitness extravaganza for the 3 minutes and 4 seconds

that it takes them to sing the song. flippin' amazing[4].


[1] Though apparently they did have to redo it about 10 times before they got through the entire routine without mistakes[2].
[2] Can you imagine getting to 3 minutes and 20 seconds and then the dude behind you does a start jump or a split at the wrong time? yeeaaaaaargh!
[3] Choreographed by the singer's sister, Trish.
[4] Great song too!

As reported previously I'm working on an entry for the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest.

Here is the latest fruit of my labour - the opening sentence to a soon-to-be monster novel: Memoirs of a Slut.

She never put out on the first date of the day, but it was clear to him that this might change as he watched her deploy those fuck-me-harder eyes he'd heard so much about.

This is fantastic! I just saw the video for Tenacious D's song Tribute(to the greatest and best song in the world)[1].

It's Jack Black and some dude who he's been friends with since 1985 who plays an acoustic guitar.
It starts out nice and simple but then builds into the kind of post-post-postmodern-postness that Muse wish they could do.
Liam Lynch[2] meets Lordi meets the Andy Milonakis Show.


And despite being totally throwaway 15-seconds-of-fame pop trash[3] it's actually a good song.


[1] I love songs with sub titles! My favourite of all time is It's A Long Way To The Top (If You Wanna Rock 'n' Roll)
[2] who directed the video for Tribute.
[3] I mean that in a good way

I've been ripped off(recently again) about my kak taste in magazines. I totally don't agree.
Yes, Anita and I do buy heat every now and again and will buy Vanity Fair whenever it's not ridiculously overpriced(as recently in Washington).
But even higher on my wishlist of magazine subscriptions is The New Yorker - snooty, I know, but the cartoons are unrivaled.

But I will freely admit to buying crap magazines, not because they offer the greatest read(uhm, heat[1]), but because they are interesting mega-media products. And having a spouse in media makes for an interesting view into the mechanics of the magazine business in South Africa.

Recently there's been blood on the streets over a pair of new magazines launching in the hot-hot new-new heat-for-guys segment.
An independent publisher (World Report Media) announced recently that it would publish a weekly mens' magazine named Krew(sic).
Upper Case Media (publisher of uber-SA-lad-mag FHM) immediately responded by announcing their own(bi-lingual[2]) mens' weekly entitled Zoo(much better than Krew).


In order to get to market before the first issue of Krew(apparently due within a week or two) FHM have bundled a hastily slapped together free issue(pilot?) of Zoo with this month's FHM. Combine this with the addition of a lingerie special and some free deo and you have a pop-media juggernaut on your supermarket shelves. Hell yes, I bought it[3].




FHM is still the same old juvie hangout[4] and the lingerie special is dissapointing to say the least[5] - so what about Zoo?
The fact is that in format it's an exact heat clone, the layout, the word count, the celeb shots - just with more boobs and less cellulite.

Sample articles includes an in-depth(yeah, right) profile of Survivor South Africa hottie Brigitte Willers[6] and an homage piece on The(ultra-macho) Hoff.



One thing that I found interesting about Zoo is how much prime space it devotes to gaming[9]. It gives up four of the first 13 pages to it. The rest are devoted solely to chicks[10], apart from a two-page spread on the new Mercedes SLR.


So, will it sell? I think it depends on how good Krew is. Zoo is definitely lad-mag lite and there's actually very little to read in it. It seems to be taking at totally opposite approach to UK magazines like Stuff and Loaded.
But, it does work for heat and who knows, probably many okes are just as vapid as their girlfriends who religiously buy heat.


Music: AC/DC - High Voltage - AC/DC Alive Disc 2

[1] Anita's best estimate for heat's word count is around 3000; that's around 115 words per non-advertising page.
[2] Now you'll be able to ckeck out the cherries' boobs in Afrikaans ook ouens.
[3] Just to get a look at Zoo, you know, nothing to do with the booty on the front and back covers.
[4] Including all-time favourite FHM crew member, Captain Beer
[5] Lots of skin, zero individual identity
[6] Brigitte Willers, 24, is a sports model[7] who grew up in Ermelo and now lives in Auckland Park, Johannesburg. Brigitte was named the FHM model of the year in 2005 and voted the 56th sexiest woman in the world by readers of the magazine[8] this year.
[7] i.e. does magazine swimsuit shoots - cannot get onto a real fashion shoot
[8] That is, she was voted the 56th sexiest woman in the world by readers of South African FHM. UK FHM readers don't have a clue who she is.
[9] Xbox360 has a monopoly. Can you say 'Ad-spend'?
[10] I shit you not