Warren Ellis has posted a couple of photographs of a shuttle launch as seen from orbit. What an amazing sight.

[Edited to add: see this post for an update on the source of the images. jr 25 Oct 2006]

It's official: blogging is Bigger than Jesus.

[Via A Whole Lotta Nothing]

Gary Wolf's Battle of the New Atheism is mostly perfectly fine: a decent enough tour of the views of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris and Daniel Dennett. But then you get a passage like this:

[From Oxford professor of science and religion, John Hedley Brooke...], I get pointers on the state of the art in academic theology, particularly those philosophers of religion who write in depth about science, such as Willem Drees and Philip Clayton. There is a certain illicit satisfaction in this scholarly work, which to an atheist is no better than astrology. ("The entire thrust of my position is that Christian theology is a nonsubject," Dawkins has written. "Vacuous. Devoid of coherence or content.") On the contrary, I find the best of these books to be brilliant, detailed, self-assured. I learn about kenosis, the deliberate decision of God not to disturb the natural order. I learn about panentheism, which says God is both the world and more than the world, and about emergentist theology, which holds that a God might have evolved. There are deep passages surveying theories of knowledge, glossing Kant, Schelling and Spinoza. I discover a daunting diversity of belief, and of course I'm just beginning. I haven't even gotten started with Islam, or the Vedic texts, or Zoroastrianism. It is all admirable and stimulating and lacks only the real help anybody in my position would need: reasons to believe that specific religious ideas are true. Even the most careful theologians seem to pose the question backward, starting out with their beliefs and clinging to those fragments that science and logic cannot overturn. The most rigorous of them jettison huge portions of doctrine along the way.

If trained theologians can go this far, who am I to defend supernaturalism on their behalf? Why not be an atheist? I've sought aid far and wide, from Echo Park to Harvard, and finally I am almost ready to give in. Only one thing is still bothering me. Were I to declare myself an atheist, what would this mean? Would my life have to change? Would it become my moral obligation to be uncompromising toward fence-sitting friends? That person at dinner, pissing people off with his arrogance, his disrespect, his intellectual scorn — would that be me?

Besides, do we really understand all that religion means? Would it be easy to excise it, even assuming it is false? Didn't they try a cult of reason once, in France, at the close of the 18th century, and didn't it turn out to be too ugly even for Robespierre?

And he started out so well…

(I'm only surprised that he didn't throw in Mao and Stalin, just to make sure we understand what happens when atheists get political power.)

I wish the Daily Show had been available on a free-to-air channel over here when this clip of Stephen Colbert reporting on … certain rumours … about Prince Charles was broadcast. Thank goodness for YouTube.

Jon Ronson's visit to the set of Deal Or No Deal is fascinating. An air of desperation and paranoia reigns, apparently:

[Presenter Noel Edmonds...] writes in his recently published self-help book, Positively Happy, that he can't abide negativity in the workplace. Noel hates negativity. He even advises readers, on page 88, to dump their sexual partners if they are too negative. I can't help thinking that, if I were Noel Edmonds' lover, he would dump me.

"But surely a bit of negativity makes you – you know – interestingly spiky and sassy," I suggested to Noel earlier, during a break from filming.

"I simply will not get involved with people who are negative," Noel replied. "I won't tolerate people in the workplace who are negative. I like realistic people, but negative people? No. Just get rid of them."

"I have a habit of being a bit negative sometimes," I said. "I'd hate my wife to read Positively Happy and dump me as a result."

"Then be careful," Noel said, looking me in the eye, "because she might."

There was a silence.

[...]

It is 10pm, back in the hotel. I have a drink with contestant Tony from the West Midlands. Earlier, during recording, Tony was standing behind Box 8 and Noel mentioned that he thought he looked like a funeral director. It got a laugh: Tony does look slightly undertakerish, with white hair, a white moustache and a long, thin face. Now, unbeknown to everyone else, Tony is desperately worried about it.

"I'm semi-retired," he says. "Everything in my life revolves around quarter past four. I do the washing, the cleaning and then I sit down. Deal Or No Deal is an addiction for me. So actually to get through the auditions and on to the show… I'm dreaming! Apparently the chances of becoming a contestant are 70,000 to one. And I make it through all that, and Noel calls me a funeral director." Tony pauses. "If only he could see the real me. Maybe I should have laughed or something. But to stand there and laugh at nothing? It's hard. And I didn't sleep well last night. There were police cars going up and down all night. Was Noel aware of that?"

Suddenly, Tony stops and glances at my notepad. "Where's this information going?" he asks. "Is it going to The Banker?"

There's a lot of paranoia among the contestants that things they say and do in the hotel might be relayed to The Banker – the mysterious figure on the other end of the phone who is never seen or heard. They fear that when it's their turn to play, The Banker might give them low cash offers if they've been deemed to have behaved in a desperate or cowardly or negative way back at the hotel.

"It isn't going to The Banker," I say.

Tony pauses. He narrows his eyes. "Are you giving it to someone who'll give it to The Banker?" he asks.

[...]

The article is excellent; well worth reading in full.

[Via LinkMachineGo]

The Pensacola Christian College has a rather detailed dress code:

MEN.

[...]

Hats may only be worn outdoors, but NOT at outdoor sporting events.

You must wear a belt at all times.

[...]

No "dressing down" – that is, intentionally mismatching clothes.

[...]

Multi-colored polo shirts and khakis are acceptable "afternoon" dress (see the "Who's Who" section of the latest yearbook for examples); note, though, that this also applies to Saturday mornings, in which case the morning is converted to "afternoon" for clothing purposes. Sunday afternoon, though, is not "afternoon" for clothing purposes.

And finally:

You may not allow the end of your belt to hang down from the belt-loops resembling a phallus.

Then there are the rules on social interaction:

No student is allowed to talk or otherwise interact with another student of the opposite sex outside of a "chaperoned" area. It does not matter if they are alone or among hundreds of students if it is not an "official" chaperoned area.

[...]

You may not interact with a student of the opposite sex in any way off-campus without prior approval and an approved chaperone.

Men may not give their suit jacket to their date.

Each gender must use segregated stairways, elevators and in some cases, sidewalks.

There is to be no physical contact between students of the opposite sex, except perhaps on some "dating outings," where hand-holding games are played.

The official rule on "indirect contact" is unknown. It is much talked about, but unevenly enforced. This includes such things as tugging on a coat, poking with a pencil, etc.

[...]

A formula for producing well-rounded, balanced young adults, I'm sure you'd agree…

[Via Michael Hopkins, commenting at Pharyngula]

Ray Pride has interviewed several of the world's stroppiest actors and has the scars to prove it.

The use of the word "stroppy" doesn't refer to the behaviour of the actors in the interview itself, at least not in the case of those Pride describes in detail; it's more a case of the actors not being very keen on the promotional side of their job and wanting to get it over with, thereby making it harder for the journalist to get something publishable out of the interview. Take, for example, Morgan Freeman:

One of the surest signs of polite boredom (and burning-up of interview time) is the actor who flatters the journalist with questions, or piles on layers of shaggy-dog stories, or asks that questions be repeated. Morgan Freeman is one of the most accomplished. At least three times, I've heard his story, apropos of little or nothing, of the day he saw the face of Satan in the swirling clouds while he was out on his boat with his wife. He tells it with Shakespearean grandeur, a great performance, yet it's useless except to impersonate to your pals at the local. I remembered a quotation once while Freeman was talking, something I'd read off the wall in the men's room of a Chicago vegan coffeehouse, that I knew he would ask to hear repeated, and would then repeat and savor, looking off into the distance with a knowing smile. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper while waiting. "It's like the African proverb, 'The true story of the hunt will never be known until the lion gains his voice," I say. He repeats it. "I like that," he says, "Could you write it down for me?" hoping to simply watch as I did. I hand him the scrap of paper. He grins, busted. He looks deep into my eyes. "Did you know the story of how I saw the devil in the clouds?"

If that was too low-key for you, perhaps the epic struggle to get Tommy Lee Jones to say something interesting about filming Men In Black II (later in the same post I linked to above) will be more to your taste.

[Via Nerve.com ScreenGrab]

So, Torchwood has arrived. Three years ago, who'd have thought that we'd be seeing a spin-off from a new version of Doctor Who, let alone one built around a character previously unknown to Who fans who featured in less than half the episodes from one season of the parent show?

Captain Jack made a big impression in those five episodes, and whilst John Barrowman is by no means a big TV star he has charisma aplenty and the support of Russell T Davies, who has surely earned the trust of the BBC's executives after the job he's done reviving one of their signature shows. It's tempting to draw parallels with what Joss Whedon did with Angel, and certainly nothing in the first two episodes of Torchwood renders that comparison invalid.

Torchwood's first two episodes introduced the supporting cast and set up the parameters for what's to come. Eve Myles' Gwen Cooper, who serves as the viewers' surrogate as the policewoman who stumbles into the middle of a Torchwood operation and finds herself recruited, is an appealing character and over time hopefully we'll get to know the other Torchwood staff better. (This is one area where Angel had an advantage, since as well as two main characters right from the start who we already knew well from Buffy there were also plenty of guest appearances over the first season to tie the show closely to its sibling.)

It's clearly no more a proper science fiction show than Doctor Who is, but the first two episodes of Torchwood did a decent job of giving us a British-based X-Files without the underlying conspiracy plot. The special effects were decent enough, the timeslot allows slightly more adult content than we get at 7pm on a Saturday, and all in all I can see this show developing a following.

It'll be interesting to see how far Torchwood stands free from Doctor Who; I fully expect to see at least a cameo appearance from Prime Minister Harriet Jones, and I gather that rumour has it that Captain Jack will show up in Who season 3, but I'd be surprised if we get a full-on crossover storyline. Perhaps Captain Jack will just disappear for a brief spell in the middle of a Torchwood episode only to return having spent three weeks with the Doctor; time travel is handy that way. (If we don't hear the sound of the Tardis engine at least once during Torchwood's first season – probably dropping Jack off after whatever adventure he has on the parent show – I'll be deeply disappointed.)

Simon Hoggart points out some outstandingly strange book titles, taken from Fish Who Answer The Telephone and Other Bizarre Books by Russell Ash and Brian Lake:

These are all genuine titles and some are cherishably weird: Rats For Those Who Care, Drummer Dick's Discharge, The Romance of Rayon, The Glamour of Belfast, Build Your Own Titanic, How To Eat a Peanut, Versailles: The View From Sweden, Helium in Canada From 1926 to 1931, My Duodenal Ulcer and I, Gay Bulgaria, How To Write While You Sleep, Dildo Kay (presumably a novel), Jokes Cracked By Lord Aberdeen (author: Lord Aberdeen), Memories of an Amnesiac, Sodomy In Reformation Germany and Switzerland by Helmut Puff, and hundreds of others.

I reckon a couple of those would make fine names for a weblog.

Visualcomplexity.com is a fascinating compendium of maps of sometimes quite complicated 3D networks.

That sounds really dry, I know, but it's pure infoporn for those of us who are that way inclined. Also, some of the maps are just really pretty.

[Via MemeMachineGo!]

This list of the Top 10 ad-tricks in Tokyo's train stations is worth a look.

Partly, that's because some of the ideas are really clever: the frame-by-frame adverts that form a flipbook-style animated sequence from the passenger's point of view as the train moves through the tunnel, and the Canon camera ad poster that is only revealed as passers-by pick up small gift packets. But it's also noteworthy that there are so few signs of graffiti, vandalism or littering. Is that just because the photos were taken shortly after the ads were put up, or are the stations of Tokyo really that clean and tidy all the time?

[Via MetaFilter]

A little anecdote from John C McGinley of Scrubs fame that says so much about the mindset of the modern TV network executive:

"The [Scrubs] pilot script's notes described the character as a 'John C. McGinley-type.' Now, I don't know what that type is, but I said, 'Well, you've got him.' I still had to audition five times for the network."

David Poland thinks he's encountered the guys behind Epagogix, the company with a computer system capable of predicting film grosses that I mentioned earlier this week, before:

This is one of these deals where I want to get it right and my travels this week are making it very hard to get complete focus. The item in question is Malcolm Gladwell's New Yorker piece on Dick Copaken, Nick Meaney, Sean Verity, "Mr. Pink" and "Mr. Brown" and their allegedly viable computer program that puts value on many specific parts of a movie and alleges to be able to predict box office success based on screenplays.

I don't know if he is Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, or Mr. Made Up Name, but a little over a year ago, The Hot Blog was engaged by a guy who went by Michael Daviyd, who referred to a company called Michael Adam & Associates. They claimed they could, almost exactly as described in the Gladwell article, predict the box office future and using their system, enhance commercial viability based on reading and analyzing scripts.

They were pretty much laughed off the blog.

Gladwell's piece is a bit of promotion for these guys (again, assuming they are the same guys) that borders on journalistic malfeasance, because the fact that The New Yorker is allowing this stuff to be printed in the magazine gives it credence, even if one gets no clear idea that Gladwell believes any of it. The same lack of any significant proof to their claims remains the issue. And in the Gladwell article, they are still swimming in the same shallow The Interpreter pool they were swimming in last year. When that is the example they are still trying to dine on a year later, red flares should be close enough to burn you for looking so close. [...]

I understand why Poland feels aggrieved that a company run by what he regards as a bunch of scammers are getting publicity from the New Yorker, but I'm not convinced that Gladwell has come anywhere close to "journalistic malfeasance."

The thing is, the tone of Gladwell's article was far from a rave. Once Poland moves on from recounting his own experience with what he believes to be the team behind Epagogix, he goes on to pick out the telling quotes – that's quotes from Gladwell's article, remember – that undermine Epagogix's claims. If Poland can read Gladwell's New Yorker article and do this, why shouldn't a potential investor do the same? It's the siren song of blockbuster movie grosses that overwhelms the investor's judgement in a situation like this, rather than the attributes of a particular piece of journalism.

Put it this way: if you read a review of a new computer that was as far short of a rave as the Gladwell piece on Epagogix, would you put down the magazine and conclude that you simply must run to your computer and give that company some money? You might, if the software was cheap enough and looked useful. What if it was an article about a new car: would you rush to your local dealership to hand them a big cheque based on a similarly lukewarm article? Maybe, but you'd want to test drive it first, and if the car was from a new company you hadn't heard of you'd probably do some research into the size of their dealer network and look at any statistics about how reliable their cars were. Why is investing in a film, or in a company claiming to have software that can predict film grosses, any different?

[Via MetaFilter user bove]

From Variety:

LONDON — U.K. satcaster Sky has outbid Channel 4 for the third and fourth seasons of "Lost" in a deal that represents one of the highest license fees ever paid by a British broadcaster for a U.S. show.

Sky is likely to have forked out around $1 million an episode for the Buena Vista drama, repping a total outlay of about $44 million.

The satcaster declined to put a figure on the purchase, but said it was the most it had spent on a U.S. import.

Channel 4, which showed the first two seasons of "Lost" in Blighty, was given the chance to match Sky's bid but declined.

[...]

That's just great. Thank you very much, Channel 4. Great job.

[Via Words]

My favourite scene ever from The West Wing.

A T-shirt for the Neo-Galactica fan in your life.

[Via plasticbag.org]

Malcolm Gladwell reports on a company trying to prove William Goldman wrong:

In the summer of 2003, Copaken approached Josh Berger, a senior executive at Warner Bros. in Europe. Meaney was opposed to the idea: in his mind, it was too early. "I just screamed at Dick," he said. But Copaken was adamant. He had Mr. Bootstraps, Mr. Pink, and Mr. Brown run sixteen television pilots through the neural network, and try to predict the size of each show's eventual audience. "I told Josh, 'Stick this in a drawer, and I'll come back at the end of the season and we can check to see how we did,' " Copaken said. In January of 2004, Copaken tabulated the results. In six cases, Epagogix guessed the number of American homes that would tune in to a show to within .06 per cent. In thirteen of the sixteen cases, its predictions were within two per cent. Berger was floored. "It was incredible," he recalls. "It was like someone saying to you, 'We're going to show you how to count cards in Vegas.' It had that sort of quality."

The last third or so of the article describes in detail the conclusions the Epagogix team came up with after analysing the script for Sydney Pollack's The Interpreter. I haven't seen the film, but I have to say that the original (more 'European') screenplay sounds like a much more interesting film than both the filmed version and the various more commercial directions the screenplay might have taken if the producers had had the benefit of Epagogix's analysis. But then, "interesting" isn't what Epagogix are going for: their aim is to maximise commercial potential.

[Via kottke.org remaindered links]

The latest Sony Bravia TV advert is spectacular and quite hypnotic.

[Via rc3.org]

An Alien my little pony.

As one MetaFilter poster put it:

In space, no one can hear you whinny.

[Via MetaFilter]

Thatcher statue would be a menace:

A proposed statue of former British prime minister Margaret Thatcher in her home town would be dangerous to road-users, the local council insisted.

An independent councillor in Grantham, eastern central England, reportedly came up with the idea to honour Thatcher, 80, who was born and raised above her father's grocery shop in the market town.

But the proposed site — in the middle of a roundabout — could cause traffic chaos, said a South Kesteven District Council spokeswoman.

"There would be health and safety issues with people trying to cross the road to see it," she said.

[...]

To see it, or to vandalise it?

To her credit, Baroness Thatcher has reportedly indicated that if her home town must commemorate her she'd prefer it was by building something of practical use like a library or an IT centre.

[Via Jon Henley's Guardian Diary]