The Tim-Hunt
Tim Hunt has now been completely exonerated. His main accuser has been totally discredited. Many rash and stupid people have egg on their face, including serious news organizations. And yet he is still being excluded from positions that are rightfully his. It was obvious to anyone that this was a put-up job from the start, and still many people who should know better were taken in. Such is the power of politics, of credulity, of prejudice, of viciousness. What a shameful episode.
Homo ?
“Of the talking of rubbish, there is no end” (anon.)
I have found what distinguishes us from animals after much patient research: our capacity for talking rubbish. And not just talking it–thinking it. You see, animals don’t talk or think rubbish: it’s all good sense with them, nothing rubbishy at all. But we humans are constantly talking and thinking rubbish. Our heads are full of rubbish. Those massive brains of ours are repositories of mental rubbish. That’s what makes us special! That’s what sets us apart as superior to other animals! They just can’t get their heads round rubbish, whereas we have a real talent for rubbish–absorbing it, transmitting it, wallowing in it. We are so brilliant at rubbish! I knew there had to be something that made us unique.
Irrational Man
I went to see Woody Allen’s new film yesterday, about a homicidal philosophy professor. The story itself was paper thin, as well as absurd, and the dialogue clunking and cliched, with none of the usual Woody Allen wit and charm. But what really struck me was the low level of the philosophy in the film. Woody has been preoccupied with philosophy for his entire career, so you might think he had made a study of it. But to call the philosophy in this film sophomoric would be insulting to sophomores. Mainly confined to superficial readings of existentialism, it bore no relation to philosophy as it is taught in universities; the one reference to the “analytic tradition” was pathetically ignorant. The supposedly brilliant professor came across as a complete nincompoop. You would think Woody might bone up a bit on philosophy if he is going to make a film about a philosophy professor, but so such thing. What has he been reading all these years?
Phil
I never thought I’d be defending Prince Philip but his recent outburst has me on his side. Surrounded by other worthy dodderers he impatiently tells the photographer “Just take the fucking picture!”, then smiles thinly. Prince William smirks in the background. It’s a wonderful comic moment. The American press speaks censoriously of his “potty mouth” and his “dropping the F-bomb”–both phrases of such sublime inanity that the only possible response is to tell them to get an effing brain. Then there was his recent question “Who do you sponge off?” uttered in the presence of a sponge cake to a group of women–such sexism! Clearly a man of great evil.
Neanderthals
What a pity the neanderthals went extinct! The world would be a very different place with them and us in it. Would we be at war with them or in harmony? Would we have enslaved them? It would be fascinating to see another version of human nature, possibly superior to the Sapiens version. Given that we interbred with them, would there be a lot of intermarriage now? What would their culture be like? I suspect that a genetic mixture of the two species would have produced a superior hybrid. But we will never know.
Richard Gasquet
I’ve always had a soft spot for Gasquet, who won today’s quarter-final against another favorite of mine, Stan Wawrinka, in a thrilling five-set match. It was a contest between the two best one-handed backhands in the world. But it’s not just Gasquet’s superb backhand that I like; I like the whole package. He is just so understated, so mild, so self-contained–yet brilliant. It’s all about his game, not his shorts or hair or tantrums, or even his good sportsmanship. There is a purity to him that I like. He also seems very intelligent (like his compatriot Gilles Simon). I once stood next to him in Miami and noticed his calm and charming manner. I hope he does well against Novak in the semi-final. Meanwhile, I’ll keep his image in my mind as I hit backhands.
Good Mr. Oover
“Mr. Oover’s moral tone, and his sense of chivalry, were of the American kind: far higher than ours, even, and far better expressed. Whereas the English guests of the Junta, when they heard the tale of Nellie O’Mora, would merely murmur ‘Poor girl!’ or ‘What a shame!’ Mr. Oover said in a tone of quiet authority that compelled Greddon’s ear ‘Duke, I hope I am not incognisant of the laws that govern the relations of guest and host. But, Duke, I aver deliberately that the founder of this fine old club, at which you are so splendidly entertaining me to-night, was an unmitigated scoundrel. I say he was not a white man.’” Zuleika Dobson, 125-6.
Such is the deadpan of Max’s satire here that you might not have noticed the moral stupidity of Mr. Oover till that final utterance of his, which exposes his utter fatuity (not to speak of his pomposity). Notice how eager he is to condemn someone he foolishly blames, rather than sympathize with poor Nellie; but also note the ridiculous use of “Duke” as a term of ostensible respect. Max knows how to skewer a man with his own blade. And is not the type still with us?